


Lifelong Love Letter

by poetzproblem



Series: Don't Blink [24]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Friendship, Humor, Romance, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2382638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetzproblem/pseuds/poetzproblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s an oasis of beauty and calm in the midst of the frenzied city, but more importantly, it’s the place where Rachel and Quinn had taken their first steps together into the future they both wanted, so it only made sense that it should be the place where they each vowed to never walk any path without the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let It Come Down Crashing

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** Part of the _Don't Blink_ series set directly after _Diamonds Along the Way._ There will be seven parts and all of them fluff.
> 
> Eternal thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being the most awesome beta.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

_My whole heart_  
_Will be yours forever_  
_This is a beautiful start_  
_To a lifelong love letter  
_ _~I Choose You, Sara Bareilles_

* * *

**Part One: Let It Come Down Crashing**

* * *

It really had been a beautiful ceremony. Sarah Cartwright can't deny the fact as she stands and claps for the newly married couple along with all of the other guests in attendance. She still can't quite believe that she's even here, watching her ex-girlfriend-turned-just-friend marry Rachel fucking Berry. She grins self-indulgently, silently conceding that maybe— _just maybe_ —it's finally time to drop Rachel's unofficial middle name from her mental description. Rachel still isn't her favorite person in the world, and she highly suspects that the feeling is still pretty mutual, but they've mostly found an odd sort of common ground, and she can't deny how happy the woman makes Quinn. That's all Sarah has ever really wanted, and as much as it pains her to admit, she'd always known deep down that she was never going to be the woman to make Quinn smile the way that she's smiling right now.

The friendship that they've reestablished in the last year or so has been a welcome development in Sarah's life, for so many reasons. That first year of living in New York had been something of a struggle for her, and while she loves her career and every new challenge and opportunity that it presents to her, there are still days when she misses her friends and family back in Michigan almost more than she can bear. She's so grateful to have found a small group of people here that make her days in the city a little brighter—less a burden to be born and overcome and more a minor annoyance to be managed with grace.

Meeting Quinn again for the first time after their breakup had been something of a shock. She'd known, of course, that Quinn had been living here for years, but in a city this size, Sarah had honestly never expected to run into her, even if she had occasionally found herself scanning the faces on the crowded sidewalks and subways after she'd first moved here for a familiar pair of eyes or angular jaw.

The eventual reunion had been anything but happy, and Sarah had expected that day at the Jefferson Market Library would be the last time that she'd ever speak to her ex-girlfriend. She'd certainly hoped it would be the last time that she'd ever have to speak to Rachel Berry. So Sarah had been understandably surprised when she'd gotten that first text from Quinn just two weeks later and more than a little amazed that Quinn still had her phone number—until she remembered that Quinn's cellphone always had been a mess of little used contacts that she just never bothered to delete. Still, the cautious request to meet for coffee to  _close the book on the past in a more positive way_  had left Sarah at a loss for how to proceed.

Quinn hadn't contacted her again after that initial message. She'd put the ball very firmly into Sarah's court, whacking her right in the forehead with it for good measure. It had been entirely up to Sarah whether to make the next move or not. After some deliberation, she'd decided to see what Quinn had to say, if only to finally hear her admit that Sarah had been right all those years ago—that Quinn had never stopped loving Rachel Berry. The conversation had been honest, polite, and just a little hard on her easily bruised ego, but she'd walked away from it with a sense of closure that had always seemed to be just beyond her reach before. The lingering question of whether she'd given up on her relationship with Quinn too easily answered with the knowledge Rachel had always been first in Quinn's heart, even if Quinn had truly believed that she'd been moving on.

The tentative promise to keep in touch had gradually turned into a friendship that's proving to be far more enduring than their romance ever could have been. Sarah is just fine with the way things have worked out. Once she'd put a little distance between herself and that awkward moment of seeing Quinn with Rachel, she'd been ninety-nine percent certain of her initial assessment that she was very much over Quinn Fabray. She figures that one percent cushion is an acceptable margin for error—Quinn is simply one of those women that you can never completely forget. Sarah wouldn't be surprised if at least half the people in this room right now are just a little bit in love with her, especially after witnessing the beauty of Quinn dressed all in white and surrounded by a glow of happiness that could light the whole city.

Rachel doesn't look half-bad either.

Quinn would certainly call that a major understatement if the way she's looking at Rachel is any indication. Her attention has been wholly focused on her bride-to-be from the moment she began to walk down the aisle with a wide smile and sparkling eyes, and Rachel's gaze is equally captivated by Quinn. Sarah almost feels like a voyeur, spying on an intimate moment that she has no right to witness—except that she has every right since she's an invited guest along with the other hundred or so people in attendance. Every one of them is standing with smiles on their faces amidst a sea of gardenias and green ribbons as Quinn and Rachel turn and begin to make their way back up the aisle as a married couple, smiling at their guests along the way.

Sarah happens to be positioned on the end of her row, and when Quinn walks past, their eyes briefly meet, and Quinn's smile softens as she nods in silent acknowledgement. There was time when watching her marry Rachel Berry would have felt like a knife in Sarah's gut, but now, all she feels is glad that she's here to witness one of Quinn's long-held dreams finally come true.

An arm slips around Sarah's waist from behind, drawing her out of her quiet reflection, and she leans back into the familiar body with a content smile as she watches the happy couple continue on their way. She rests a hand over the one that's holding her, slipping her fingers along the soft, warm skin.  _This_ is the biggest reason that Sarah is grateful for her friendship with Quinn—it brought love and happiness into her life in the form of the gorgeous redhead that she'd first met so many years ago at Yale (thanks to Quinn) and to whom she'd been reintroduced more than a year ago on what would have been an otherwise lonely New Year's Eve (also thanks to Quinn).

Josie Deveraux is everything that Sarah never wanted and exactly what she's always needed. She skillfully deconstructed every one of Sarah's reservations with her boldness, her kindness, and her intelligence, and she's even willing to move to Michigan if that's what Sarah wants, insisting that she can happily practice law anywhere. Ironically, Sarah isn't so certain that  _is_  what she wants anymore. Life has a strange way of taking you in the most unexpected directions, and it's somehow led Sarah to the right person in the right place at exactly the right time.

"That was a nice ceremony," Josie murmurs against her ear in husky tones, and Sarah shivers a little at the sensation.

"It was," she agrees, lightly gliding the pads of her fingers back and forth over Josie's wrist where it rests against her body. "I'm happy for them." Saying it out loud makes her realize how true it is—she is happy for  _both_  of them.

"So am I. I'm also just happy," Josie says, hugging her a little tighter.

Sarah sighs in contentment, feeling exactly the same way. She turns in Josie's arms and meets her clear, blue eyes. "Me too," she agrees, quickly brushing a chaste kiss across her girlfriend's too-tempting lips. Around them, the wedding guests are gathering up their belongings and stepping out of their rows, having been invited to enjoy a cocktail hour in the adjacent garden outside while the wedding party poses for photographs and the staff resets the room for dinner and dancing.

"Come on," Josie urges. "I'll buy you a free drink," she quips with a mischievous grin, "and we can pump Quinn and Rachel's old friends for embarrassing stories of their younger years."

"More embarrassing than the ones Santana tells?" Sarah wonders, because she remembers a really amusing story about Rachel getting thrown up on that she can't imagine anyone ever being able to top.

Josie chuckles. "Yeah, I guess you have a point there," she concedes.

The tall guy beside her accidentally bumps into her, sending her stumbling forward into Sarah's arms. He turns around in confusion at the impact. "Oh, sorry again," he offers with a sheepish grin. He'd practically fallen into their laps when he'd shuffled into their row right before the ceremony had started, and Josie hadn't been impressed with his clumsiness then. She frowns at him, possibly on the verge of suggesting that he take some lessons in spatial navigation, because while she's generally laid-back, she also doesn't hesitate to speak her mind, and her temper does occasionally get the better of her.

Sarah quiets her with a soothing hand on her lower back. "It's okay," she tells the guy.

"Cool," he says with a crooked grin that's not nearly as charming as he undoubtedly thinks it is.

The woman next to him slips her arm under his and tugs lightly. "Let's go, Finny Bear," she urges. "I'm positively in need of some fresh air and something to settle my stomach."

He pats her hand and nods, looking back at Josie and Sarah beseechingly. "Um, could we?" he asks, gesturing past them to the aisle, and Sarah immediately steps out of the row to make room for the couple to pass. Josie follows her with an amused expression, letting the mismatched pair out and watching them move toward the exit with the other guests.

Josie slides her hand into Sarah's, linking their fingers together as she laughs quietly and shakes her head.

"What's so funny?" Sarah asks with a mild frown.

"Finny Bear," she echoes, lifting her eyebrows in amusement.

"He did seem kind of bear-like," Sarah supposes, wondering exactly what her girlfriend finds so funny about that.

"Sarah, honey," she says. "I do believe that guy is the mutual ex."

Sarah's eyes widen in realization.  _Finny?_  Finn. Houston or Hutchins or something like that. "The guy they fought over in high school?" she clarifies, already knowing it to be true.

Josie nods. "Their tastes in romantic partners have definitely improved over the years."

Sarah laughs, thinking that's at least true on Rachel's part. "Well, he certainly doesn't seem like Quinn's type at all."

"Mmm, no," Josie agrees thoughtfully, pulling Sarah a little closer before she presses a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Quinn's type is much, much prettier."

Sarah blushes to the tips of her ears because she knows that her girlfriend isn't talking about Rachel Berry. At times, she still finds it hard to believe that Josie is back in her life again—that this outspoken, passionate, caring woman that she'd only really thought of as Quinn's friend back in college would turn out to be so important to her now. Sometimes she wishes that she would have realized sooner where her heart would eventually lead her, but then she would have missed out on so many experiences that make her cherish her relationship with Josie even more.

Smiling shyly, she gives Josie's hand a mild tug to get them shuffling into the receiving line that's slowly funneling guests out of the room. They stand in it because apparently that's the thing to do. Sarah has only been to a handful of weddings over the years, and this one isn't exactly conventional anyway, but it doesn't surprise her at all that Quinn and Rachel have chosen to stay as close to traditional as they could. Sometimes Quinn can be a really old-fashioned girl, and this whole, big, romantic event fits her perfectly, from the venue to the flowers to the beautiful dress that makes her look like a princess. Something like this never would have fit Sarah.

When they reach the wedding party, Kurt smiles at them both and offers Josie a quick kiss on the cheek. The two of them have spent enough time together over the years—thanks to Josie's friendship with Quinn—that she and Kurt genuinely get along on their own. It's never been quite so easy for Sarah, and she can admit now that some of that is her own doing. She always did have a fairly low tolerance for Quinn's high school friends, partly because she associated them with Quinn's frequent trips to New York, but mostly because they're all a little crazy, to be honest.

Kurt, like Rachel, is always gushing about the latest musical or fashion trend and, also like Rachel, isn't beyond breaking into song on the rare occasion. And Santana is rude, crude, and judgmental, even on her good days. When Sarah and Quinn had eventually started rebuilding their friendship, both Kurt and Santana had been fully on Team Rachel, and neither of them were shy about letting her know it. Once she'd started dating Josie, Kurt had become noticeably friendlier. Santana—well, she's still Santana.

"What's new, pussycat?" Santana purrs to Josie with dark eyes dragging up and down her body in undisguised appreciation. Sarah's hackles immediately rise at the overtly flirtatious tone.

"That line never gets any funnier, Santana," Josie drawls affably while she squeezes Sarah's hand in silent reassurance.

Santana shrugs and gives her a wink. "Can't blame a girl for trying."

"I can," Sarah mutters, glaring at Santana. The woman has been trying to get into Josie's pants on and off for the last eight years, but Josie swears that it's never gone further than flirting and a few drunken kisses on a dance floor during the spring of her last year in law school. Sarah believes her—Josie has no reason to lie about something that happened before they were ever together—but it doesn't mean that she likes listening to Santana try out her terrible pick-up lines on  _her_ girlfriend.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Oh, lighten up, Michigan. She obviously prefers cherries to champagne." She arches her over-sculpted eyebrows as she lets her gaze linger on Sarah longer than it normally does. "Although you are looking incredibly edible today," she adds with a smirk.

Sarah feels her cheeks heat in a mix of irritation and embarrassment. She smoothes her hands over her simple dress self-consciously, wishing again that she'd stuck with the black pantsuit that she'd originally picked out—even if Josie does seem to think this is a sexier look on her. Sarah prefers to save sexy for the privacy of the apartment they share in Queens.

Next to her, Josie shakes her head at Santana's antics. "You know, green really isn't your color," she comments with a grin, giving the bridesmaid's dress that Santana is wearing an exaggerated once-over.

Santana scowls, huffing out a breath as she crosses her arms in annoyance. "Yeah, yeah. At least it's not Pepto-Bismol pink again," she grumbles.

"There was nothing wrong with the pink dress," Rachel chastises, unexpectedly butting into the conversation before she frowns slightly. "Well, other than the unfortunate memories associated with it." Her frown inexplicably deepens, and she slaps Santana's shoulder with surprising force. "How could you even bring that up today?" she demands shrilly.

Santana glares at Rachel, but Quinn turns quickly and slips an arm around her new wife's waist, narrowing her gaze on Santana in warning—almost as if she's daring her to retaliate in some way. "Oh, whatever," Santana finally concedes, waving hand to shoo Sarah and Josie away. "Let's get this pride parade moving."

Sarah really doesn't understand how their friendship works at all, or how it's lasted this many years, but she supposes that she doesn't really need to. Somehow, it's normal for them. She glances at Josie to see her girlfriend smiling in amusement at their behavior. Josie lets go of Sarah's hand to give Rachel and Quinn warm hugs in quick succession as she tells them, "Congratulations, you guys. You both look beautiful, and the ceremony was absolutely perfect."

Rachel and Quinn both murmur simultaneous  _thank yous_  before Rachel adds, "We're so happy that you came." Her eyes dart over to meet Sarah's, shining with sincerity. "Both of you."

Sarah feels herself smile in response. It's not hard to be here to support them when she knows how much they love one another and how long they've been waiting for this day. "I couldn't miss Quinn finally get to marry her someone better," she admits quietly, recalling a long ago conversation that she'd had with Rachel.

Rachel's eyes go soft and teary before she announces, "I'm going to hug you now." Before Sarah really knows what's happening, she finds herself caught up in Rachel's surprisingly strong embrace. She awkwardly raises her arms to loosely hug Rachel back, and then she hears her whisper, "I think you found your someone better too."

Sarah chuckles a little wetly, thinking that for once, she completely agrees with Rachel Berry—no, it's Rachel  _Fabray_ , now. "Yeah," she confirms just before they part, and Rachel breathes out a tearful laugh as she dabs the corner of her eyes with the pads of her fingers. Sarah turns her head to find both Quinn and Josie staring at them in bewilderment. "What," she asks, attempting to discretely brush away her own embarrassing tears, "I can't congratulate the bride?"

Quinn shakes her head in amusement and grins. "Only if you congratulate this one too," she urges, opening her arms invitingly.

Sarah steps into them with only a slight hesitation. Quinn's embrace is so familiar, and for just a second, Sarah's eyes drift shut in wistful remembrance of the past. "I'm so happy for you, Quinn," she tells her honestly. "You're going to have an amazing life together."

"Thank you," Quinn murmurs, giving her one final squeeze before she lets go. She slips her arm back around Rachel's waist, and Josie does the same to Sarah, and everything is just the way it's supposed to be.

"I'm expecting a dance with the blushing bride later," Josie teases.

Quinn winks. "You'll have to ask my wife," she says playfully.

"I was  _talking_  about your wife," Josie fires back, grinning impishly at Rachel.

Quinn laughs, and Rachel's smile grows impossibly wide. "God, I love that word," she practically growls, turning into Quinn's body and pulling her down for a kiss, and her brand-new wedding ring winks at them from the hand resting on Quinn's cheek.

"Hey, save it for the reception," Santana interrupts them. "If we ever get to it since you're both taking forever making nice with all the exes you didn't marry."

The comment pulls the couple out of their moment, and they both send reproachful looks in Santana's direction. Santana remains unfazed as she shrugs and crosses her arms. Josie chuckles, giving Quinn's arm a quick squeeze. "We'll see you later," she promises, letting go of Sarah's waist only to catch her hand again.

They only make it a few steps before they're pausing again, and Josie smiles at Beth, who's standing on Quinn's other side next to one of Rachel's fathers—Sarah isn't entirely sure which one he is. "You look lovely," Josie tells the girl. "And you did such a good job with those flowers."

Beth smiles up at Josie with pink cheeks and thanks her politely. Sarah has never really been very good with kids, or very fond of them, so it had been pretty easy for her to willfully forget that Quinn had had a baby in high school, but wow—the girl looks so much like Quinn that it's uncanny. She's seen a few photographs over the years, but it's nothing compared to seeing the two of them standing side-by-side with matching smiles and identical eyes. As if sensing her thoughts, Quinn turns in their direction again and flashes another proud smile as she casually brushes back a lock of hair from Beth's brow. Sarah is struck by just how motherly the action is, and she wonders how long it will be before Quinn will be announcing a pregnancy—whether Rachel's or her own.

_God, that kid will probably come out singing show tunes._

Sarah frowns at the image, barely tearing her eyes away from Beth as she lets Josie lead her through a few more quick  _hellos_  to the parents of the brides and then out toward the garden. It's a little mind-boggling to suddenly realize just how quickly the time is passing. When she and Quinn had broken up, Beth had barely been six, and now she's practically a teenager. Okay, so she has a couple of years to go, but still—she's a young lady. And Quinn is a married woman now while most of Sarah's old friends back home, along with her brother, have already started families of their own. And it will only be a few more years before Sarah will be kissing her twenties goodbye forever.

"You look like you might need that drink now," Josie comments when they're far enough away from the wedding party. "Are you alright?" she asks, her voice betraying her concern and a hint of uncertainty.

Sarah exhales slowly. "I'm fine," she reassures her girlfriend. "I just had this really weird moment of imagining a mini-Rachel to match the mini-Quinn back there." Among other things.

The concern clears from Josie's expression, and she laughs. "Wow, they'll have their hands full if that happens."

Sarah nods in agreement, laughing lightly as they step outside into the gorgeous summer day. A good number of the other guests are already holding drinks and hors d'oeuvres and socializing amidst soft music and laughter. She sees the tall guy, Finn, shoveling food into his mouth while his tiny wife sips on a glass of water. Out here in the sunlight, she realizes that the woman bears more than a passing resemblance to Rachel, which is honestly a little creepy in her opinion.

She recognizes a few faces from the joint bachelorette party that Josie had dragged her to the other night.  _That_ had been an experience that she wasn't sure she ever wanted to repeat—she should have realized that Santana and Kurt would conspire together to rent out an exclusive club featuring matching hers and hers strippers to satisfy every sexual preference imaginable for the brides and their friends. She doesn't even want to guess what went on when Rachel and Quinn disappeared together into the private room.

Sarah is pretty bad at matching faces to the names, but she does remember Mercedes, who's currently laughing boisterously as she talks to some guy with shaggy, sandy hair and big lips. She can't remember the Asian woman's name, but she spots her wearing a star-struck expression as she chats with Steven Piper and his latest rumored girlfriend—she's on some new summer, cable show according to Josie. Sarah doesn't recognize her. Honestly, she probably wouldn't recognize Steven either outside of being Rachel's co-star in that musical she's doing, and she only knows that because she'd read the program that Josie brought home. When Sarah finally saw him in person, she kind of wondered how in the hell Rachel had missed the fact that she once dated a guy who could pass for Quinn's twin brother. Talk about willful blindness.

But then, even Sarah had missed the similarities between Quinn and that Peter guy that Rachel had been dating when they first met. Sometimes you're just not ready to see the big picture until you take a step back, clear your mind, and really look.

Today, Sarah can see the entire history of Quinn and Rachel and their relationship in every face and every flower around them. The gardenias and green ribbons have spilled into the décor outside, and while Sarah doubts she would have picked them for wedding flowers—were she inclined to pick wedding flowers—she has to admit that the whole atmosphere feels a little like a fairytale. "This is a pretty nice venue," she muses, gazing around at the rowboats on the lake and the beautiful buildings peeking over the tree line. Not everything about New York City is terrible.

Josie grins, pulling Sarah into her arms. "Are you getting ideas?"

Sarah's eyes widen in surprise. "No," she denies quickly and then wants to kick herself when she sees Josie's smile slip and the happy sparkle in her eyes dim just a little bit. "I…I mean…n-not yet," she stutters, licking her lips nervously. "Do you want me to be?" she questions uncertainly. Just because she's not ready to book a venue and run down any aisles right this minute doesn't mean that she never wants that—well, maybe not the aisle and definitely not the gardenias, but a nice, quiet courthouse with a judge and few of their closest friends, her parents and brother and sister-in-law, of course, and Josie's family in Boston. Maybe they could plan an intimate dinner afterward, but nothing too fancy, though she'd be willing to compromise if Josie wants something a little more flowery.

With a start, Sarah realizes that really she does want all of that—with Josie—and she finds herself holding her breath as she waits for Josie to answer. It feels like forever—like her future is suddenly hanging in the balance.

"Not yet," Josie finally agrees over the sound of Sarah's racing heart. "But…eventually…yeah, I think so."

Sarah exhales, feeling warm all over, and she slides her arms around Josie's waist and lets herself come home. "Then eventually," she says slowly, "you should ask me the right question."

Josie's mouth is covering hers almost before she can get the last word out, and for once, Sarah doesn't really care that they're very much in a public place or that their kiss is so very far from chaste. She doesn't want to let anymore moments pass her by, and she doubts anyone here has a problem with two women kissing, considering whose wedding they're attending. When their lips finally part, Josie's smile is back at full wattage. "Just wait," she promises. "I'm pretty good at asking the right questions. It's kind of my job."

Butterflies take flight in Sarah's stomach at the certainty in her girlfriend's eyes, and she knows it's just a matter of time. Maybe she'll even invite Rachel fucking Ber— _Fabray_  to  _her_ wedding. "I'm kind of crazy about you, you know," Sarah murmurs happily as she gazes at Josie's beautiful face.

"Same," Josie tells her with a playful grin, dropping another kiss on her lips before she begins to sway to the music, pulling Sarah into the rhythm with her. "Can I have this dance for the rest of my life?" she asks contentedly.

Sarah glances around bashfully. "No one else is dancing," she notes.

"But we are, and that's all that matters."

Sarah sighs, giving into the persuasive argument of Josie's body moving against hers as she surrenders herself to the joy of the moment. Her girlfriend loves to dance, and she knows that she's in for a long night of bad pop music and Broadway ballads and probably a couple of Rachel Berry solos. Josie will be in absolute heaven, and as long as Sarah is in her arms, she'll be there too.


	2. Unfold Before You

**Part Two: Unfold Before You**

* * *

Santana is bored, and when she's bored, she gets irritable, and she's already extra irritated because she's stuck in this lime green monstrosity that Rachel calls a bridesmaid's dress. She'd lobbied hard for the emerald green strapless mini-dress that would have made her look fucking amazing—even more so than usual—but Bridezilla and Mini-Bridezilla had both shot her down in flames. She cuts a suspicious glance in their direction, taking in the elegant dresses that they'd picked for themselves, and decides that they're both sneaky, little bitches who'd purposely plotted to stick her in this dress to make sure that no one looks better than them today. Standing next to one another right now, it's like Grace Kelly just married Audrey Hepburn, but Santana will be damned if she ever voices that comparison out loud because Rachel's ego is big enough as it is, and Quinn's vanity just about balances the scale.

But fuck if Santana doesn't love them both like sisters.

Maybe her irritability also has something to do with the fact that Kurt is technically her date to this shindig because they're both depressingly in between bed-warmers at the moment, although neither one of them is quite as footloose or fancy free as they used to be in that department. Actually, Kurt is just coming out of a five month relationship with a semi-closeted fireman who'd rescued a batch of his precious designs from a small electrical fire last winter. Apparently, the level of danger in Rodger's life had been too much for Kurt to handle long term, which is kind of a shame, since Rodger Dodger had been one of the good ones, despite his reluctance to come out to his co-workers.

Santana, on the other hand, barely has the time or energy these days for a decent roll in the hay, let alone any deep, lasting relationships. Her hours at the hospital are long and hard, so much so that she's too exhausted to even make that into a wanky joke. And anyway, sampling the endless flavors of women had lost its appeal some time ago. For some reason, the women that she sleeps with never seem to appreciate her sparkling personality and superior wit once the sun comes up. Well, whatever—she still keeps it real, but it kind of sucks to be single while all of her friends and former classmates are coupling up. Hell, even Hudson had found himself a mate who doesn't mind nesting with him for some inconceivable reason.

She watches the awkward couple approach them in the receiving line—seriously, what had Quinn been thinking when she'd suggested this?—and Finn bends down to give Kurt a quick, "manly" hug, promising to sit down and really catch up later, before he turns to Santana and does that thing with his mouth that he thinks passes for a smile. For a moment, he looks like he's about to swoop down on her, and she rolls her eyes. "Don't even think about hugging me," she warns him, "and remember what I said about keeping your peace. No one needs to hear you regurgitate those lame  _we'll always be a family_  speeches from high school." She's grateful (and a little amazed) that he hasn't said or done anything stupid to upset one (or both) of the brides yet, and she's determined to make sure that it stays that way. Hey, it's her job as Maid of Honor.

"Always a pleasure, Santana," he mutters, shaking his head before he sets his sights on Rachel. Santana doesn't miss the way that Quinn immediately rushes off the attractive guy that she was talking to—one of her handful of friends from college that she still keeps in touch with—and steps a little closer to her new wife's side so they can greet Finn together. She also doesn't miss the way Harmony clings to Finn's arm just a little more possessively. It's gotta suck facing two of your husband's exes all in one go.

Finn fumbles over his feet and his words as he tries to congratulate the brides with an inelegant, "Yeah, um…that was…really nice. Good wedding," he compliments, reaching out a giant paw toward Rachel and letting it hover uncertainly over her shoulder as he seems to consider the proper etiquette before finally deciding to give her a loose, one armed hug and quickly kiss her cheek. "You look really beautiful," he tells her with a soft smile before he nervously glances at Quinn. "You both do." He quickly turns to give Quinn the same awkward hug and kiss, and Quinn seems happy enough to hug him back.

"Thanks, Finn," she whispers into his shoulder—the smile on her lips and the glow on her cheeks is enough to broadcast her overall joy with the way things have turned out.

"Thank you so much for coming, Finn," Rachel echoes, reaching out to clasp his hand. "Quinn and I are so glad that you and Harmony could make it."

"It's cool that you invited us. It's pretty great to see the two of you all happy and stuff."

"And of course, I told Finny that we positively couldn't pass up the opportunity to get a preview of what your next book is about," Harmony gushes to Quinn. "I read your first one six times, and I was fit to be tied when this one," she reaches up and tugs at Finn's tie in emphasis, "came home with your autograph without even telling me that he was going to your signing in Columbus. Can you imagine? I have so many things that I want to ask you about the story. You can absolutely count on me picking your brain later."

Quinn's smile grows increasingly tight around the edges with every overenthusiastic word out of Harmony's mouth, and Santana instantly recognizes her expression even without the super-saccharine, "I look forward to it," that she chirps out to cover the fact that she's silently plotting ways to keep Finn's wife as far away from her as humanly possible.

Finn—bless his little, dyslexic heart—seems to recognize  _that_  look too, because he scratches his neck and shrugs apologetically, even as Harmony turns to Rachel with an unmistakably cool, "I suppose we should have a little chat as well. I saw a bootleg performance of your latest show, and I have a few tips for you to try in order to improve your breath control."

"There's nothing wrong with my breath control," Rachel fires back, looking vaguely murderous.

Santana snickers. "Just ask Quinn."

Her joke goes unappreciated as Quinn keeps a sure grip on Rachel, murmuring calming words against her ear, and Finn quickly stutters out a nervous, "Um, yeah, we're, ah, gonna go mingle," and drags his wife away before Rachel strangles her, Quinn unleashes her inner bitch on the both of them, or someone points out that Finn somehow managed to marry some freaky combination of all the worst qualities from his two ex-girlfriends. Santana doesn't say that out loud. She does have a little tact— _sometimes_.

For example, she's perfectly nice to Wheels as he rolls on by, and yep—Trouty Mouth did ditch the bleach and let his hair go back to its natural, sandy brown. He's still got the lips though, and Santana wonders if Rachel and Quinn will let her sneak in a rendition of her excellent original song. She's suddenly in the mood the belt one out later tonight. It could be fun.

 _Dios_ , can this line move any slower? They still have to pose for the damn wedding photos before she can finally snag some champagne—it better damn well be acceptably chilled—and get her eats on. She feels like she hasn't eaten in a week.

Speaking of delicious morsels, Santana grins lasciviously at the sight of Josie Deveraux, looking sinfully sexy in her little, blue dress. "What's new, pussycat?" she asks playfully, ignoring her sourpuss girlfriend.

"That line never gets any funnier, Santana."

"Can't blame a girl for trying," Santana says with a wink, fondly recalling the dozen or so other times that she's said the same thing. She's not serious with her flirtation these days. She might have had a small window of opportunity with the woman once upon a time, but she hadn't been ready for anything long-term back then, and despite her laid-back, carefree exterior, Josie is a long-term kind of girl. Also, Quinn would have flipped her shit if Santana had bedded her closest college friend.

Sarah Cartwright attempts to give Santana her best evil eye, but she isn't impressed. "Oh, lighten up, Michigan," she needles with a roll of her eyes. "She obviously prefers cherries to champagne." The woman doesn't even crack a smile, which doesn't surprise Santana. She never did have a very good sense of humor. She and Quinn had been two bland pigs in a wet-blanket when they'd been together. "Although you are looking incredibly edible today," she adds, unable to resist pushing a few of Sarah's buttons.

"You know, green really isn't your color," Josie teases good-naturedly.

Santana isn't going acknowledge the double entendre that suggests she's somehow envious of all the gooey hearts and flowers surrounding her. She isn't. Much. No—she bristles because now she's in the position of defending this fucking awful dress as a matter of pride. It's only slightly better than the one Rachel had forced her into back in high school, and she says as much, but of course Rachel's selective hearing kicks in at just that moment, and she rushes into the conversation with her crazy on full display. Santana lets it slide because it's her wedding day, and this one is about a million times better than the nightmare of her last attempted wedding. Rachel is standing there with Quinn at her side, being all protective and wife-like, and Santana is all too aware of how close they'd come to never having this moment—never having any of the moments they'd all had with Quinn.

Thankfully, Puck appears just in time to keep Santana from getting too sappy. "Guess those two babes are off the table for potential wedding hookups," he comments, nodding at Josie and Sarah as they stop to say hello to Beth. "Don't suppose you want take another swim with the sex shark for old times' sake? Maybe double team some willing, bi-curious hottie?"

Santana punches him in the arm, but she does it with a smile. "You're still a pervert, Puckerman."

He grins down at her. "You know it, babe."

"You didn't show up for the bachelorette party," she accuses, crossing her arms. "You would have liked it."

"Don't remind me," he grumbles. He'd had some emergency with one of the bigger clients of the landscaping business that he'd started up in Los Angeles—apparently there actually  _is_  a hot market for chiseled beefcakes working shirtless around the yard—and he'd had to postpone his flight. Puck has grown up to be a pretty shrewd businessman, and he'd taken his little, one-man company and gradually turned it into an elite business, all while taking night and weekend classes at UCLA to become an accredited landscape architect. And despite his inappropriate flirtation, he also has a serious girlfriend who apparently couldn't make the trip with him.

"Did you at least take pictures?" he asks disappointedly.

"Sorry, Puck. Live shows only."

He frowns. "Damn. Being a responsible adult sucks ass."

"Tell me about it," Santana agrees.

"Well, I, for one, prefer you both now to your irresponsible teenage incarnations," Rachel interrupts, smiling warmly at Puck. "I'm so glad you made it," she tells him, reaching out a hand that he immediately takes before he pulls her into a hug.

"Like I'd miss my favorite, hot Jew finally bag my bab-," he starts to say before Rachel growls in warning and roughly pinches him in the side, "hey…favorite blonde," he finishes lamely, pulling back with a sheepish expression. "You look gorgeous," he tells her sincerely, still loosely holding her by her shoulders.

Rachel smiles at him and reaches up to pat his right arm. "Thank you, Noah."

"And you," he turns to Quinn with a wistful smile, letting go of Rachel completely, "look radiant."

"Thanks, Puck," she murmurs, accepting the brief hug he gives her along with the kiss to her cheek.

"Congratulations," he murmurs. "You deserve all the happiness in the world," he tells Quinn seriously before he grins and turns to Rachel. "You both do. And if you want to send me some pictures of the honeymoon," he trails off suggestively, wagging his eyebrows.

Quinn smacks his arm. "You always know just how to ruin a moment."

He laughs, holding up his hands. "Hey. I've got a rep to protect."

"You've also got Beth standing right there," Quinn reminds him sternly, tipping her head.

Santana watches Puck's expression soften the moment he looks at their daughter, and she has a weird moment of wondering how different things might have been if they'd decided to keep her. She somehow doubts she'd be standing here if that had happened—mostly because Quinn's ass would still be stuck back in Lima. Giving Beth to Shelby was probably the best thing for all of them. Deep down, she thinks Puck knows that too. He cups a hand around Quinn's biceps to give her arm a squeeze before he moves on to Beth with a proud, "Hey, princess. Who said you were allowed to look more beautiful than the brides?" She giggles and happily lets him wrap her up in an enthusiastic bear hug.

Meanwhile, the never-ending line of wedding guests just keeps coming, and Santana doesn't even recognize half of them. She swears there have to be some wedding crashers here—Rachel and Quinn can't have this many friends that she's never met! Then again, she wouldn't put it past Rachel to have invited a bunch of people that she barely knows just to get the extra gifts. It's something that Santana would probably do too.

She wonders if anyone would really care if she sneaks outside and grabs some of that food to tide her over until dinner. Sure, Quinn and Rachel will probably throw matching hissy-fits, but they'll get over it. She's an expert at tuning them out by now, but her growling stomach is pretty hard to ignore. No one in this damn line really cares about saying hello to her anyway; they're only here for the brides. She can just slink over a bit while Rachel is sucking up to Quinn's editor, bump Kurt out of the way, and—

"Hi, San."

And just like that, Santana feels like she's been thrown back to her teenage years. Her gaze slowly moves over the woman in front of her, taking in the familiar features coupled with a few noticeable changes. For one thing, her blonde hair is a shade lighter and several inches shorter than she used to wear it, and the laugh lines around those lively, blue eyes have multiplied. The fit of her yellow dress shows off toned muscles and lithe limbs that are far more defined than they used to be. The years spent dancing professionally have certainly done a body good.

"Brittany," she murmurs with a touch of the same breathless awe that she used to feel back when they were kids. "I…I didn't think you were coming."

"I'm not right now," Brittany answers flatly. "I could be later, though."

Santana can't really prevent the images that pop into her mind. After all, she has a lot of very vivid memories to help her visualize. A whole lot. Her eyes drop to Brittany's legs, involuntarily recalling what it feels like to have them wrapped around her head. "No," Santana grunts, forcibly snapping herself out of those thoughts. "I meant…to the wedding.

Brittany grins then, rolling her eyes. "I know what you meant." And Santana realizes that Brittany was joking—she did occasionally have trouble telling the difference. "I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it," Brittany continues, "but Beyoncé is totally down with the unicorns and rainbows, so she gave me a few days off. I just have to be in St. Louis by Friday." She pauses, her expression colored with sudden concentration. "First, I have to figure out where St. Louis is, but you can help me with that, right?"

Santana chuckles and nods that she will. "Come here," she urges, opening her arms. Brittany steps forward, wrapping her up in a crushing hug and practically lifting her off the ground. Dios, she's missed these hugs, and, "I've missed you, Britts," she breathes out against Brittany's warm shoulder.

It's been a long time since she's been in Brittany's embrace this way. It feels good—better than it should when she's been over Brittany for a long time. Well, mostly over her. The girl is her first love after all. Brittany had taught Santana  _how_  to love. She's never been that vulnerable with anyone else, and she still thinks about how good the good times had been, even though they'd been few and far between by the time Brittany had finally left for good.

"I miss you too, San," Brittany says as she lets go and steps back. Her gaze travels over Santana's body in much the same way Santana's had over hers. "You look totally hot."

"Well, obviously. It's me," Santana agrees—her hotness is a given. "You look…really, really good," she murmurs in soft appreciation.

"Well, duh," Brittany responds with a brilliant smile—her hotness is also a given. "Do you have to guard the brides all day?" she asks, nodding over at Rachel and Quinn. "Or can I get you to myself for a while?"

And those images are back again. Santana wonders if it would really hurt to indulge them for a few hours. She's a different person than she was eight years ago and so is Brittany. Maybe this could be the beginning of something new, or at the very least, one hell of a trip down memory lane. "You definitely can," she agrees easily. "Right now if you want."

She's about to take Brittany's hand and make a break for it when she feels someone else's hand close around her arm. "Oh, no, you don't," Rachel hisses. "You stay right there, Santana Lopez. We're on a very strict schedule."

"Are you kidding me?" Santana growls, prying off Rachel's hand with a frown. "We're standing around doing nothing!"

"And we have five more minutes to do it!" Rachel argues firmly. "The photographer is already waiting for us, and then we're going directly in for dinner and the toasts. You and Brittany can... _catch up_  later," she enunciates, and Santana can almost see the air quotes flashing over Rachel's crazy head. Rachel turns to Brittany with a polite smile. "Hello, Brittany."

Brittany stares at Rachel with a blank expression. "Wow, you're still really bossy," she observes before tipping her head thoughtfully. "But you're way hotter than I remember, so I get why Quinn put a ring on it. You totally got the better deal though, so congrats," she offers with a grin.

Rachel's brow crinkles in bewilderment. "Ah, thank you? I think," she mutters under her breath.

"I suppose you can hug me if you want to," Brittany tells her. To her credit, Rachel just rolls with it, slipping her arms around Brittany with a fond smile. The hug she receives is only little less enthusiastic than the one Quinn receives a few seconds later. "I'm happy for you guys."

When Brittany lets her go, Quinn is looking a little misty-eyed again. "It's really good to see you again, Brittany."

"I know," Brittany responds with a smile. "I'm gonna go say hello to everyone else now," she informs them before specifically turning back to Santana with that heated look that (even after all these years) never fails to get her body buzzing. " _You_  can find me later."

"Count on it," she promises breathlessly, watching the sway of Brittany's hips as she saunters away. Santana shivers in anticipation—well, certain parts of her shiver while other parts are on fucking fire. She turns to Rachel and Quinn with a scowl. "Okay, seriously, can we fast forward through the reruns now?" she asks impatiently, flinging out a hand to indicate the dwindling line. "There's only, like, five people left who haven't fawned all over you yet."

Rachel glares at her. "We are not rushing through our wedding reception just because you're suddenly feeling frisky."

"Would passing out from hunger be a better excuse?" Santana wants to know, because that's still a possibility too.

"I'll let you know if it actually happens," Rachel informs her before she leans around Santana to smile politely at the next person in line.

Quinn aims one of those cocky, head-bitch smirks in Santana's direction. "Maybe the schedule wouldn't be quite so tight if  _someone_  hadn't made me late for my own wedding."

Santana rolls her eyes and crosses her arms—she'd known Quinn wouldn't be letting that die anytime soon. She shifts her weight to one foot while she taps the other impatiently, but she waits it out like a dutiful Maid of Honor, even if she is ready to strangle the brides.

Once the last guest is trotting off to the garden with the food and booze and music, Santana gets dragged out to the deck along with Kurt, Beth (and Shelby), the Berrymen, and Judy to get posed and prodded and positioned, all with a big, fake smile on her face. Okay, so it isn't actually all that fake, and neither is the one on Judy's face. Santana actually has to hand it to the woman as she poses for those pictures with her daughter and brand new daughter-in-law with what looks like genuine, motherly pride. Santana even overhears—because she's totally not eavesdropping on them—Judy telling her daughter, "You and Rachel really do make a lovely couple. As long as you're happy, I'm happy, too."

It seems to be enough to make Quinn all weepy—but what hasn't been doing that today?

Shelby, on the other hand, stands off to the side through most of the photos, smiling while she watches the photographer arrange her daughter(s) for a series of pictures until Rachel eventually stops him and, with a ragged breath, suggests that Shelby stand with them for a few as well.

"Technically, you are a mother of a bride," Rachel acknowledges, and Santana wonders how hard that must have been to say without choking on it. Shelby has the sense not to refuse and allows the photographer to position her for a few shots.

The guy is pretty fast, so hopefully that means he's good as well, and in about twenty minutes, he's releasing the wedding party for what's left of the cocktail hour—which isn't much. It will be at least another fifteen minutes before dinner is served, though, because Rachel and Quinn, decked out in their heels and wedding dresses, have arranged for a golf cart to take them and the photographer the short distance through the park to the  _Alice In Wonderland_  statue for a few private portraits. Santana doesn't quite get the appeal of that ugly-ass statue, even if those two did have a moment there once upon a time. Seriously, the thing is hideous, but whatever—it's their wedding photos.

Santana practically jogs to the garden, making a beeline for the grilled prosciutto-wrapped scallops and snagging three of them before they're completely gone. She eats one and juggles the other two on their little toothpicks as she grabs a glass of champagne, her gaze sweeping the crowd for Brittany. She spots her sitting on Wheels' lap, laughing as she talks to him, and Santana frowns, wondering if Britts is making the same request for a little one-on-one time that she made to Santana. Then she reminds herself that it's really none of her business anymore, and Artie is an old friend that neither one of them have seen in years.

Actually, there are a whole lot of mini-reunions happening all over the garden right now. Mercedes and Tina, Puck and Shelby and Beth, Finn and Jesse St. Jackass—huh, that one is unexpected. As long as they don't get into some ridiculous fist fight trying to prove their masculinity, Santana doesn't really care what they're talking about.

She munches on another scallop while she silently debates whether or not to go interrupt Brittany and Artie in order to collect on that promise of  _later_ right now or wait until after dinner, but it turns out that she doesn't have to make a decision because Candy the wedding planner chooses that moment to announce that they're ready to seat the guests in the banquet room. It looks like she'll be waiting to catch up with Brittany, which is probably for the best. Today is supposed to be about celebrating the start of Quinn and Rachel's future, not dwelling on mistakes of the past.

She finishes off her champagne as she watches everyone begin to filter inside. Kurt comes to stand next to her, sipping on his own champagne. "Are we having fun yet?"

"A frickin' blast," she answers, unconsciously watching Brittany push Artie's chair inside. "Thank God there's an open bar."

"You might want to pace yourself on that front. You don't want to do anything you might regret in the morning," he cautions her knowingly, his eyes having followed her line of sight.

Santana sends him a withering look. "Who says I'd regret it?"

Kurt sighs. "Maybe you wouldn't," he concedes with a shrug. "But I've known you for a long time, Santana, and we've run through our fair share of wild oats together." Santana chuckles at that, and Kurt grins and drops an arm over her shoulder. "If you're thinking about taking that particular stroll down memory lane, just make sure that you know where it's leading you. And that it's where you want to be at the end of the day."

"Aw, Kurtsie. Are you trying to be all Fairy Godfather with me?" Santana teases, but really, it feels kind of nice to have him looking out for her. And she gets what he's saying—it's nothing that she hasn't already thought about.

She's still not exactly certain what she feels when she looks at Brittany now. Sure, there's a little of that old zing bubbling to the surface, but at the same time, she can't really distinguish how much of it is genuine attraction to the woman Brittany is right now and how much is an echo of what used to be. Hell, this whole reception is pretty much a giant cavern of past hookups and heartbreaks echoing off the walls. Their glee club really had been semi-incestuous at times—she alone had bedded three of the guys and Brittany. Of course, Brittany is the only one that matters—the only one that had ever really mattered.

"Between you and our two newly-wedded friends, I have more than earned these wings, thank you very much," Kurt exclaims dramatically, squeezing her shoulder. "Now let's go inside so we can eat, drink...in moderation," he warns playfully, "and show everyone how fabulous we are now."

"I can get on board with that," Santana agrees with her signature smirk firmly in place. She honestly has no idea how tonight will play out. Part of her wants to let go and fall back into whatever Brittany is offering, but another part of her knows that, at the end of the day, she really doesn't want to be back where she was eight years ago. She drops her empty glass onto a nearby tray and tucks her hand into the crook of Kurt's arm. "Let's get this party started," she decides, tugging him into motion.

She's going to take a page out of Quinn's book tonight—it's time to let go of the past and start her future.


	3. Finally Got It All Right

**Part Three: Finally Got It All Right**

* * *

 

Rachel's hand is warm inside of Quinn's, and Quinn can't seem to stop herself from glancing down every few seconds and admiring the wedding ring on her finger. She's _married_. To Rachel. And it feels fabulous. They're waiting just outside the banquet room to make their official entrance as Mrs. and Mrs. Fabray, having just returned from _their_  statue on the back of a golf cart. She doesn't really care that they made their guests wait a few extra minutes, because kissing her brand new wife in the same place that they'd shared their first kiss is an experience that she wouldn't trade for anything. It makes today even more special, and they'll have photographic documentation of it for the rest of their lives.

Apart from a few minor timing snafus earlier, the day has been going perfectly, and Quinn can't wait to sit down with all of their friends and family and share a meal before they really begin to celebrate. As much as Santana had grumbled about the receiving line, there had been a method to Quinn's madness from the very beginning. They've already personally greeted all of their guests and thanked them for coming—well, the ones that hadn't skipped the line, anyway—so the rest of the evening should be far more relaxing for everyone in the wedding party. But first—first she and Rachel are going to share their first dance as a married couple.

It had taken them forever to pick a song that they could both agree on. There are a few that have special meaning to them already, but they all seem to be colored by other memories that they hadn't really wanted encroaching on their wedding day. So Rachel had been a woman on a mission for weeks, combing through her massive music collection until she'd stumbled over one that she honestly didn't even remember adding to her library, but the moment she played it for Quinn, they both knew it was the one.

"Are you ready, Mrs. Fabray?" Quinn asks with a grin.

The smile Rachel gives her is absolutely radiant. "Whenever you are, Mrs. Fabray."

Quinn chuckles. "That's bound to get confusing after a while. No wonder your dads are always telling everyone to call them by their given names."

Rachel huffs a little, shaking her head. "Well, _I_  won't be doing that. Everyone will just have to get used to calling me Mrs. Fabray from now on."

"Except when you're on stage," Quinn reminds her playfully.

Rachel grins. "Naturally. Stage names are stage names for a reason, Quinn."

"We're ready to announce you now," their wedding planner, Candace, tells them, ushering them to the door. "Remember to go directly to the dance floor and try not to trip."

Quinn rolls her eyes at the woman. Honestly, they're not incompetent, but she supposes that the two of them did make her earn every penny of what they're paying her. She probably thinks that Rachel will demand a discount if one of them falls. Well—Rachel might actually do that.

Rachel squeezes Quinn's hand and bounces up onto her toes to grace Quinn with a brief, happy kiss. "Let's go, baby. I want to dance with my wife."

Quinn's amazed how easily that single word can stir up the butterflies in her stomach. She supposes that they'll eventually calm down the way they had with words like _girlfriend_  and _fiancée_ , but they never quite disappear completely. She thinks that might be a good thing. She always wants to feel this way with Rachel.

When they hear their names announced—Mrs. and Mrs. Quinn and Rachel Fabray—Rachel lets out a little squeal of delight and tugs Quinn into the reception to the sound of applause and the jazz band starting to play. Quinn takes Rachel into her arms when they reach the center of the floor, swaying into a dance as Jessica Foster sings a gorgeous cover of "Never Stop."

Jessica and Rachel have stayed friendly over the years—at least in that strange way that actresses who are in direct competition for roles have mastered—and Rachel had asked her if she would sing their wedding song. Quinn knows it's mostly because Rachel can't do it herself and still dance with Quinn, but also because Jessica has a beautiful voice and occasionally works with the band that they'd hired. She'd actually been the one to recommend them, and Quinn is grateful for it, because they're really good—and really affordable.

There's a soft smile on Rachel's face as she gazes at Quinn, softly humming along with the music. Everyone else in the room just kind of disappears, especially when Rachel's humming gradually turns into quiet singing.

" _And as the mirror says we're older, I will not look the other way._  
_You are my life, my love, my only, and that's the one thing that won't change._  
_I will never stop trying. I will never stop watching as you leave._  
_I will never stop losing my breath every time I see you looking back at me._  
_And I will never stop holding your hand. I will never stop opening your door._  
_I will never stop choosing you babe. I will never get used to you._ ¹"

Rachel moves her hand from where it's been loosely cupping the back of Quinn's neck to cup her cheek instead, tenderly brushing away a tear that Quinn wasn't even aware had formed with the pad of her thumb. Quinn laughs a little wetly. "See what happens when you serenade me."

"Oh, this isn't me serenading you. I have something else in mind for that," Rachel warns her.

"You really don't have to do that." Quinn really doesn't want to turn into a soggy mess of sentimental tears in the middle of the reception if her wife decides to sing for her.

"I really, really do," Rachel disagrees. "Especially after you ambushed me with those beautiful vows during the ceremony."

"It's not a competition, sweetie."

"Of course, it isn't," Rachel agrees, stroking Quinn's jaw with the backs of her fingers. "But if it were, I'd totally win," she points out with a smug grin. "Just you wait and see."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Is it too late to get this marriage annulled?"

"Don't even joke about that," Rachel chides with an exaggerated pout. "You're stuck with me for life now, Quinn Fabray."

Internally, Quinn rejoices at the promise, but, "I suppose I'll just have to grin and bear it."

"I suppose you will," Rachel agrees, gently urging her closer so that she can capture Quinn's lips with her own—much to the delight of everyone around them if the sudden hoots and hollers and wolf-whistles are anything to go by. They end their kiss with matching grins and finish their dance to the cheers of their friends and families.

As they make their way off the dance floor to their table, Leroy stands, blowing them a kiss as he gets the microphone from Jessica and thanks her for the beautiful song. Once everyone is seated, he picks up a champagne glass and stands in front of everyone, clearing his throat as he aims a fatherly smile at Rachel and Quinn.

"Hello, hello everyone," he calls out, getting the attention of all their guests. "For those of you who don't know me, I'm one of Rachel's proud fathers, Leroy Berry. On behalf of Quinn's lovely mother, Judy," he says, gesturing to Quinn's mom, who's seated at their table, "my husband, Hiram, and myself, we'd like to collectively welcome you all and thank you for being here to share in this happy occasion with us. As parents, we always want what's best for our children. We want to protect them from the bad things in the world and share the good. We want to give them the sun and the moon and the stars. But above all, we want them to be safe, and happy, and loved."

Quinn glances at her mom at the adjacent table with a soft smile. She might have declined to walk Quinn down the aisle—and she also won't be joining in on the _father_ -daughter dance after dinner—because, " _that's just not what the mother of the bride is supposed to do, Quinnie_ ," but she's here. She's here, and she'd cried happy tears when she'd seen Quinn in her wedding dress and told her that she looks beautiful and that she and Rachel make a lovely couple. And Quinn knows that while this isn't what her mother would have chosen for her, she does want Quinn to be safe, and happy, and loved, and she finally accepts that Rachel is the person who gives her daughter all of those things.

"Hiram and I have been so very blessed to have Rachel as a daughter. From the moment we brought her home from the hospital, she's been the joy in our lives and the song in our hearts…and possibly a few of the extra grey hairs on our heads," he jokes, pointing to his white temples. The sound of laughter trickles through the room, and Rachel huffs good-naturedly.

"We nurtured her and encouraged her to spread her wings and fly. Because, of course, we couldn't actually give her the sun or the moon or the stars, but we could give her the tools to reach them on her own. We've watched her grow into a beautiful, amazing woman, and then we watched her open her arms and her heart to another beautiful, amazing woman who makes her feel safe, and happy, and loved. Quinn is everything that Hiram and I could have hoped for as a partner for our baby girl." Quinn feels her eyes grow moist all over again, and she smiles gratefully at her brand new father-in-law while Rachel squeezes her hand and leans into her side.

"In fact, my darling husband never once even considered faking a seizure to stop the wedding," he adds with a grin directed at Rachel. Quinn doesn't quite get it, but a handful of people snort, including Santana and Kurt, while Hiram smacks Leroy's arm.

Rachel squeezes Quinn's hand tighter and blushes hotly, ducking her head with a muttered, "Not funny, Dad."

"So today, Hiram and I are both incredibly proud and happy to officially welcome Quinn into our family. And on that note, if you'll all lift your glasses and join us in a toast to the brides."

Leroy lifts his into the air, and Hiram stands up beside his husband with his own glass raised. "Here's to your prosperity, your good health and happiness, and most important," he pauses with a wide smile, " _To life_ , _to life, l'chayim._ " The band suddenly comes alive, and Rachel groans as Leroy begins to sing.

" _L'chayim, l'chayim, to life_.  
_Here's to the parents we tried to be_."

" _Here's to the brides-to-be_ ," Hiram joins in.

" _Drink l'chayim, to life.  
To life, l'chayim.  
L'chayim, l'chayim, to life.  
__Life has a way of confusing us,_  
_Blessing and bruising us._  
_Drink l'chayim, to life!_ "

By now, everyone at the reception is laughing and clapping along to the music, and Quinn finally recognizes the song from that time that Rachel made her watch _Fiddler on the Roof_.

" _God would like us to be joyful, even when our hearts lie panting on the floor,_ " Hiram croons.

" _How much more can we be joyful, when there's really something to be joyful for?_ " Leroy asks.

" _To life, to life, l'chayim_. _To Rachel_ ," Leroy toasts, " _our daughter_ ,"

" _Quinn's wife_ ," Hiram shouts, pointing at Quinn with a smile.

" _It gives you something to think about, something to drink about.  
Drink l'chayim_ ," they draw out the note as the music crescendos, " _to life!_  ²"

They cut the song off there, thankfully, as they dramatically bow to the raucous applause. "Thank you, thank you," Leroy crows. "That's all you get for now."

Hiram leans into his husband, commandeering the microphone. "But we'll be taking requests for later."

They both dance over to Rachel and take turns dropping kisses on her cheeks before they give the same treatment to Quinn. "We love you, my darlings," Leroy coos.

"I should have known you'd do that," Rachel grumbles at them with a smile on her face.

"Your Dad wanted to sing the whole song," Hiram reveals, "but I talked him down."

"I love you guys," she tells them as they sit back down, then she turns to Quinn and whispers, "And yes, it's still too late for that annulment."

Quinn laughs, leaning forward to give her a quick kiss. Honestly, the Berrys are a little crazy at times, but she kind of adores them.

The wait staff comes around to begin serving dinner while the band plays a mix of instrumental jazz and recognizable Broadway show tunes, of course. Santana mutters that, "It's about time. I'm starving," and Quinn silently agrees. She'd been far too nervous to eat anything this morning, but now her appetite is back in force, and she savors every bite of their meal. She's mostly finished by the time Kurt stands from his seat next to Rachel and heads over to where the band is playing to collect the microphone for his toast. Quinn briefly wonders if he's planning to sing too.

When the music ends, Kurt answers her question with, "Hello, everyone. I'm Kurt Hummel, and I'm the best man. And don't worry. Tempting though it is, I won't be breaking into song at any point during this speech. I wouldn't want to upstage the brides," he explains confidently to some laughter.

"As if anyone really could today," he concedes. "I've known them both for a very long time, and I don't think I've ever seen either of them look lovelier. And I'm not saying that just because I designed their dresses." There's some laughter at that, but Quinn certainly can't deny that Kurt did a fantastic job with their gowns.  

"When I say that I'm the best man, I really mean that I'm Rachel's best man, and I would say that I also have the honor of being her best friend, but let's be honest…that title rightfully belongs to Quinn and has for many years now," he acknowledges, smiling at Quinn. "But I _can_  say that Rachel is _my_  best friend, and I am honored to be here sharing this incredibly special day with her and with Quinn.

"I met them both when we were all still in our awkward teen years. Some of us were far more awkward than others," he points out with a playful grin aimed at Rachel.

"Some of us still are," Santana chimes in with a smirk.

"Oh, hush, Santana," he chastises over the mild chuckles from the room. "You'll get your turn.

"In any case, Rachel and I _did not_  become fast friends. It took some time for us to find a common ground," he admits, gazing at Rachel fondly, and Quinn can't help thinking that the same is true of her own relationship with Rachel.

"I still remember the moment when I first realized that this loud, opinionated, ambitious diva of a girl could be someone that I could put my trust in and call a friend. It was during a particularly rough time in my life when Rachel reached out to me and offered her support, telling me that we were more similar than I knew, and she assured me that I wasn't alone. I didn't realize at the time exactly how similar we really are, but I think our friendship was truly born in that moment."

Quinn remembers her own moment—in tears in a bathroom at junior prom with Rachel offering her a tissue and telling her that she was the prettiest girl that she'd ever met, but she was a lot more than that.

"Quinn and I, on the other hand," Kurt continues, "took a few more years to really find that common ground, but I'm certainly very happy that we finally did." Quinn smiles and nods her agreement. She and Kurt haven't always been close, but he's become one of the people in her life that she knows she can rely on when it really matters.

"And I'm even happier that she eventually won Rachel's heart, because there is no one in this world that I would trust more to protect and cherish it. Rachel, Quinn, it's been a long, winding road for you to get to this day, but you've walked it together. You're both so incredibly lucky to have fallen in love with your best friend," he tells them, pressing a hand to his heart. "And I feel so incredibly lucky to have watched it happen. So today, I wish you every happiness as you start your life together in earnest." He lifts his glass from the table, holding it in the air as he finishes his speech with a simple, "Here's to you."

Their guests join in the toast and clap as Kurt hands the microphone over to Santana as he sits back down. Quinn surreptitiously brushes the wetness from the corners of her eyes, noticing that Rachel is doing the same. "Thank you, Kurt," Rachel murmurs, giving him a hug.

"Someone had to give the sappy speech, because we all know it isn't going to be Santana."

Rachel grins as she sits back, entwining her fingers with Quinn's once again while Santana taps a knife against her glass to get everyone's attention on her. Suddenly, the entire room is filled with clinking silverware and glasses, and Quinn chuckles and gives in to the time-honored demand by kissing her wife. Everyone cheers while Santana frowns in annoyance. It serves her right—she should have thought through her method of calling the room to order.

"Okay, okay. Save it for the honeymoon," Santana chides, giving Quinn's shoulder a gentle tug to pull her away from Rachel, and Quinn reluctantly sits back.

Santana lifts her glass of champagne and takes a quick sip before she starts her toast. "I'd introduce myself, but if you don't already know who I am, then you're obviously not worth my time. My name is in the program, anyway, because Rachel is just that anal." Quinn chuckles at that, as does the rest of the room, and Rachel pouts a little, but she can't exactly deny it. They did provide their guests with a Broadway-styled program—Rachel had thought it would be cute.

"So the story starts like this…once upon a time, there was a hobbit that lived in the shire."

"Santana!" Quinn growls warningly.

Santana laughs and flashes them a wicked grin. "Sheesh…fine. For real, the story should probably start when I met Quinn. Bitch walked into Sue Sylvester's summer Cheerios boot camp like Captain America after the transformation and made us all look like incompetent babies. Well, not me, because I'm pretty damn awesome, but I knew Blondie was gonna be trouble." Santana smiles at Quinn, shaking her head. "Here's this beautiful, smart, resourceful girl with a deceptively sweet smile to cover up her wicked drive to win at any cost, and she was seriously putting a crimp in my plan to rule the school. So I did what any teenage girl would do…I befriended her so I could stab her in her back before she stabbed me in mine," she admits, drawing a round of laughter. Quinn vaguely wonders how many people think Santana is actually joking.

Santana's expression suddenly softens as she gazes down at Quinn. "It was never part of my plan to end up with a best friend for life, but somehow that's exactly what happened."

Those pesky tears are threatening to make another appearance, and Quinn laughs at how sentimental she's being today despite Santana's best efforts to be anything but.

"Incidentally," Santana adds, addressing the room again. "I did beat Quinn to that back-stabbing, but eventually she returned the favor, because Quinn Fabray always ends up on top. Isn't that right, Rachel?" she asks with a smirk.

Yeah—there goes the sentimentality right out the window. Next to her, Rachel affects her best innocent expression. "No comment."

Santana looks surprised. "That's a first," she mutters. "Anyway, that's not really where the story begins, because I actually met Rachel before anyone in Lima, Ohio, even knew who Quinn Fabray was. We were six, and I was chillin' in the back of my first grade class in my very cool overalls." Laughter follows this statement, but Santana just shrugs. "Yeah, the gay was pretty strong with me even then, but thankfully, my taste in fashion has improved over the years…which is more than I can say for Rachel."

"Hey!" Rachel grumbles amidst more laughter. Quinn places her hand over Rachel's and gives her a reassuring pat. Santana is only joking—well, mostly. Rachel still does break out the thematic holiday sweater from time to time.

"So, there I am, looking fine, because I'm _me_ , and in walks this ridiculously tiny girl wearing this awful green plaid skirt and blue argyle sweater and matching sock combination…a variation of which I would have to look at every day for the next…eleven…years," she draws out with a pained expression. "Thanks for finally taking her shopping, Kurt," she says as an aside.

Kurt nods. "A trying task, but it had to be done."

Rachel turns and slaps his arm, eliciting another wave of laughter from their friends and family.

"So the midget sits down next to me because it's the only empty seat left in the classroom, and her cute little butt is barely touching the chair before her mouth is off and running about Barbra Streisand and Broadway and the ACLU, and I was like…what tornado blew this munchkin in from Oz, and can I drop kick her back over the rainbow?"

Santana's smirk fades into a thoughtful expression. "Frankly, I just didn't get Rachel Berry. Some of you know or won't be surprised that I was a complete bitch to her for a very long time. Luckily, she's one of the most forgiving people that I've ever met," Santana says, smiling softly at Rachel, "which is why I'm standing here today."

Quinn squeezes her wife's hand, because it's true, and she knows that Santana isn't just referring to herself being forgiven for past mistakes.

"Because, you see, the real beginning of the story is when Quinn met Rachel. The sparks between them were immediate. The kind of sparks you get when stone meets flint," she explains with a wry smile. "You know, two similar but profoundly different immovable objects continually smashing against one another with enough force to ignite the fires of hell. And that's what those first couple of years were like for anyone who knew Rachel and Quinn back then," she pauses for dramatic effect. "Absolute hell. They made each other miserable, along with everyone around them, all because neither of them would just admit that they really wanted to get down and dirty in the nearest bathroom."

"Santana," Quinn chastises again, feeling her cheeks heat. Her mother is sitting right there, and so are Rachel's fathers, and Beth is here with Shelby. And really, she and Rachel might have shared a number of intimate moments in bathrooms, but there's no way that they would have had sex in one—well, in high school anyway.

"I'm just keeping it real," Santana defends. "Anyway, through all the drama and the tears and the stupid decisions, they saw one another. Really, deep down, underneath all the bullshit, saw one another. And that's a scary thing at any age," she confesses, gazing out into the room with a wistful expression on her face.

"Even before they found the words to call it love, they learned to find each other. No one believed in Quinn more than Rachel, and no one cheered for Rachel louder than Quinn. It's enough to warm every inch of my cold, black heart."

She turns to them again, addressing them directly. "Quinn, Rachel, I've been around to watch you both go from incredibly annoying closet cases to amazing and successful women in your own rights. I've seen you change from rivals to friends to lovers and now to wives. So I'm not here today to celebrate the beginning of your life together, because that happened a long time ago. I'm here for the free food and the open bar," she says with a straight face, pausing for the gentle laughter to quiet before she continues. "But for real, I'm here because you two are the best friends that I never wanted, and I wish you both a lifetime of love, happiness, and incredibly hot sex," she adds with sly grin. "To Quinn and Rachel," she shouts, raising her glass high.

There's an echoing shout from the guests as they drink, and Quinn lifts her own glass and clinks it against Rachel's, taking a sip before she leans in and places a kiss on her wife's lips. Santana is just about to hand the microphone back to the band when Rachel hurriedly jerks away from Quinn, dropping her glass back on the table. "Wait," she orders, holding her hand out and gesturing for the microphone.

Quinn frowns in confusion as Santana hands it over with a roll of her eyes. "I thought we agreed we weren't making any speeches or toasts."

Rachel grins down at her. "We also agreed not to write our own vows."

"Rachel, no," Quinn begs softly, realizing immediately what she's planning. Quinn holds on to her hand, but Rachel is already stepping away from the table and raising the microphone.

"Quinn and I would like to thank you all for being here to share this day with us." She gives Quinn's hand a little tug, tilting her head as she gestures for Quinn to stand up next to her. "Come on, baby," she urges with a smile until Quinn has no other choice but to join her wife in front of everyone.

"At the ceremony, Quinn surprised me with her beautiful words," she reminds them all, gazing lovingly at Quinn, "and while I wasn't given adequate time to prepare anything quite so eloquent and meaningful, there is one way that's always seemed to work for me in the past to best express what's in my heart."

Quinn shakes her head in disbelief as the pianist begins to softly play a melody. She has no idea how Rachel could have already made arrangements with them to perform—she hasn't been away from Quinn's side since they'd met at the altar. But then she remembers Rachel hugging Jessica in the receiving line and whispering something in her ear, and Quinn knows how sneaky her wife can be and how skilled she is at performing on the fly.

Rachel, still lightly clasping Quinn's hand, begins to sing, letting her gorgeous voice wash over Quinn with every word.

" _How long will I love you?_  
_As long as stars are above you._  
_And longer if I can._  
_How long will I need you?_  
_As long as the seasons need to_  
_follow their plan._ "

There's really no way that Quinn can even begin to stop the tears that are forming in her eyes and spilling over her cheeks. Hearing Rachel sing always had made her emotional, even back in the days when Rachel hadn't been singing specifically for Quinn. But now—now she is, and every word burrows deep into Quinn's heart and makes a home there.

" _How long will I be with you?_  
_As long as the sea is bound to_  
_wash up on the sand._  
_How long will I want you?_  
_As long as you want me to._  
_And longer by far._  
_How long will I hold you?_  
_As long as your mother told you._  
_As long as you can._ "

Quinn smiles tearfully at the way Rachel alters the words just enough to make the song even more perfect.

" _How long will I give to you?_  
_As long as I live through you._  
_However long you say._  
_How long will I love you?_  
_As long as stars are above you._  
_And longer if I may._ "

Rachel steps closer, her own eyes glistening with tears and her voice growing soft and tender as she practically whispers that last words.

  
" _How long will I love you?_  
_As long as stars are above you.³_ "

Of course, the room erupts in applause, but all Quinn can hear is Rachel's whispered, "I love you, Quinn," as she pulls her into a tight embrace.

"I love you, too, Rach. Even though you just completely ruined my makeup," Quinn complains tearfully.

Rachel pulls back, gesturing to her own ruined makeup. "At least we match," she jokes on a sniffle. "And anyway, you still look beautiful. You always do."

"Tissues for my ladies?" Kurt asks, appearing at their sides with a full tissue box held out in supplication. He looks like he might have needed a few himself.

"How gallant," Rachel observes, taking a tissue. Quinn does the same.

"This is why I'm the best man," he points out with a grin, and Rachel gives him a hug before kissing his cheek. Quinn does the same.

Candace rushes over and takes the microphone from Rachel, grumbling under her breath about schedules before she plasters a smile on her face and announces that they'll be cutting the cake next. Quinn laughs as she dabs at her eyes. "I think you're in the doghouse for deviating from the plan," she warns Rachel.

"Screw the plan," Rachel dismisses easily, lifting Quinn's hand to her lips and pressing a soft kiss there. "Some things are more important than schedules."

Quinn couldn't agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ _"Never Stop," by Safety Suit_  
>  ² _"To Life," Fiddler On the Roof_  
>  ³ _"How Long Will I Love You," by Ellie Goulding_


	4. Believe In Something Again

**Part Four: Believe In Something Again**

* * *

Once upon a time, Judy Fabray had been the bride in a fairytale wedding of her very own, complete with handsome prince and promises of everlasting love. The romance had faded over the years, and her prince had turned back into a toad, but she could never regret her marriage to Russell because it gave her two beautiful daughters—each precious to her in their own ways. She knows that she hasn't always been the best mother to either of them, and even if she spends the rest of her life in constant restitution, she'll never begin to make up for the mistakes that she's made. Especially with Quinn.

But today—today those mistakes feel farther away than they ever have, because her baby daughter is practically radiating with joy, so much so that it's nearly blinding to look at her. And when Judy stops to remember how many times she'd trembled on the edge of losing Quinn from her life forever, she's all the more grateful for this moment, even if it isn't exactly what she once imagined when she first gazed down into that beautiful face filled with unconditional love and trust.

Of course, right now, that face has a dusting of cake-frosting around her mouth and on the tip of her nose from where Rachel had methodically offered her the first bite of their wedding cake. Quinn hadn't been quite so careful, and Rachel had received a face full of cake and Quinn's unguarded laughter. It's music to Judy's ears after so many years of silence. How can she argue with her daughter's happiness?

Rachel Berry— _Fabray,_  now, Judy silently corrects—could never be mistaken for anyone's idea of Prince Charming, but then fairytales aren't all that they're cracked up to be. And perhaps, with that voice of hers, she's meant to be Quinn's very own personal nightingale instead. Judy watches Rachel scowl playfully at her daughter as she accepts the napkin that's offered to her and wipes away the mess that Quinn made, but there's no mistaking the love and joy shining through on her own face, even before she smiles and closes the distance between them to give Quinn a soft, sweet kiss.

Judy doesn't look away.

The wait staff begins to serve the cake to the guests while the band continues to play "How Sweet It Is," and Judy laughs to herself, thinking it was the perfect song to play while they cut their wedding cake. Her table is served directly after the bridal party, and she's barely lifted her fork when she notices Rachel heading in their direction. She naturally assumes that she wishes to speak with her fathers before the father-daughter dance begins, and Judy contemplates giving them their privacy. Perhaps she'll take her plate over to the adjacent table where Beth is seated with Shelby and Noah Puckerman and attempt to initiate a conversation with the girl beyond telling her that she looks lovely.

Judy always has such a difficult time trying to talk to Beth on these rare occasions when they see one another. How is one even supposed to act around a grandchild that isn't really a grandchild? The girl looks so much like Quinn had at that age, and every time Judy looks at her, she feels such an acute sense of loss over the relationship that might have been if she'd made different choices—sobered up sooner and kicked Russell to the curb so that she could have supported Quinnie in her time of need. It's just another in the long list of mistakes that she'll never be able to fix.

Judy's contemplation is cut short, however, when Rachel merely smiles at her fathers as she bypasses them and commandeers an empty chair, dragging it next to Judy with a determined expression. "Judy, if I might have a brief moment of your time?"

Judy lays her fork across her plate and offers a smile to her new daughter-in-law. "Of course, Rachel, dear."

"I realize that you're rather adamantly against taking part in the father-daughter dance with Quinn," she begins, meeting Judy's eyes unflinchingly, "and I have two fathers perfectly willing to take turns with both of us, but I did take the liberty of arranging a second song with the band in case you've changed your mind."

"Oh," Judy breathes out with a small frown. She'd very specifically discussed this with them already. "That's...very thoughtful of you, but it isn't necessary. You should have your moment with your fathers."

Rachel's lips purse into a thin line, and somehow, her expression becomes even more determined. "Forgive my bluntness, Judy, but Quinn also deserves her moment with you," she insists forcefully, though not unkindly. "You're her mother, and she loves you, and you should dance with her on her wedding day."

Judy's frown deepens, and she attempts to suppress her irritation at being ambushed this way. "Do you intend to drag me out onto the dance floor?"

Rachel's gaze does drop away from hers then, and she shakes her head slightly. "Of course not. I'm only asking you to consider letting go of outdated social constructs for Quinn's sake."

Judy smiles wryly at that. "I happen to think that I've let go of a number of them." After all, she's here supporting her daughter's gay wedding to a bisexual, Jewish actress.

Rachel nods slowly. "You have," she agrees. "And I don't want you to think that I'm not incredibly grateful that you've supported us, and for what you said earlier about being happy for us," she adds with a small smile. "It meant so much to Quinn. And to me. I suppose I was hoping," she trails off with a shrug. "Well, I just want Quinn to have the perfect wedding day."

Judy reaches over to place a hand over Rachel's where it rests on the table, patting it reassuringly. "My daughter really is very lucky to have you, Rachel," she tells her sincerely, giving a genuine smile. "But you have to understand, as much of a disappointment that Russell has been for Quinn, he _is_  still her father, and I can't help wishing that he was here to share that dance with her. I can't take his place," she explains, hoping Rachel will understand and accept her decision. "But I don't mind your wonderful fathers standing in as substitutes," she clarifies, glancing at them with a fond smile as they both try and fail to pretend that they're not listening to every word. They really have been very kind to her Quinnie. "I do promise you that I will dance with Quinn during that...what is it called...the Torah dance?"

"The Horah," Rachel corrects with a small nod, clearly attempting to tramp down her disappointment.

Judy squeezes Rachel's hand gratefully. "Rachel, I think you know that this isn't how I imagined Quinnie's wedding day, but all things considered," she pauses, meeting Rachel's eyes with a smile, "I'm very glad that it's you."

Rachel turns her hand over and claps Judy's in gratitude, and her eyes glisten suspiciously. "Thank you, Judy. I promise you that I'm going to spend the rest of my life making Quinn happy."

"I don't doubt that for a moment."

Rachel leans in to give her a brief hug before she's up and bouncing over to the band, gesturing for the guitarist to lean down so that she can say something directly into his ear. He nods at her when he straightens and motions to the rest of the band as Rachel heads back to Quinn. When the current song ends, they make the announcement for the father-daughter dance and transition into "My Wish" as Hiram and Leroy both stand and step over to the bridal table, each holding out a hand for one of the brides—Hiram to Quinn and Leroy to Rachel.

Judy sighs as she watches them, listening to the singer croon about dreams staying big and worries staying small. Halfway through the song, Hiram and Leroy gracefully switch partners, and, to her surprise, Shelby Corcoran slips into the chair next to her. "They really do look happy," she comments, her own eyes locked on the dance floor.

"Yes. They do," Judy agrees.

"Both Hiram and Leroy seem to really adore Quinn."

"They've been very good to her. I'm grateful. Especially since her own father is…not as supportive," Judy admits tactfully.

"But your support means a lot to her," Shelby points out, turning to look at her. "To Rachel too."

Judy can see the unspoken gratitude in Shelby's eyes. It's odd for her to think that her relationship with Rachel might actually be better at this point than Rachel's relationship with her own mother, but then she recalls the awkwardness out on the deck when they'd taken the wedding photos, and she understands that she and Shelby are both in the same position of making amends for all their past mistakes.

"I just want Quinn to be happy, and Rachel makes her happy. That's all we can really hope for as mothers, isn't it?" she asks rhetorically, smiling politely at Shelby. "For our children to find happiness."

"Yeah," Shelby agrees with a thoughtful frown.

Judy glances over at the adjacent table, noticing for the first time that Beth and Noah are discreetly sharing a father-daughter dance of their own at the corner of the dance floor, and she smiles at the sight. "Beth is a wonderful girl. You're doing a fine job of raising her."

Shelby smiles lovingly at her daughter. "Thanks. You know, if you ever want to spend more time with her, we could try to work something out," she offers, turning back to Judy.

Judy sighs. "I appreciate that." And she truly does. "I know it's...a difficult situation."

"I wouldn't say difficult," Shelby denies before flashing a grin that reminds Judy very much of Rachel in her more impish moments. "Definitely complicated."

"Exceptionally so," Judy agrees. "But thank you. For offering."

Shelby nods again, and they both go back to watching their daughters dance with the only fathers that they know. It's certainly not a fairytale, but it's enough.

_xx_

Shelby Corcoran collapses into her chair in happy exhaustion. She'd forgotten how energetic the Horah dance could be. Everyone had been called to get up on the dance floor, and while a few guests had lingered at their tables, the majority of them had joined in on the celebration, circling the brides as the band had played "Hava Nagila." Many of them had found their way into the inner circle to dance with the brides. She'd watched Judy Fabray take a turn first with Quinn and then with Rachel, and then she'd watched Beth do the same, followed by so many familiar faces whose names she knows and others who are complete strangers. She'd hung back in the outer circle because she still feels like she doesn't quite belong here—a mother of the bride but not.

She'd been granted a single acknowledgment from Rachel earlier while they'd been taking the wedding photos, but Shelby suspects that was more for Beth's benefit that her own. One more bittersweet moment to add to the hundreds that she's been collecting since the day she'd discovered that she was pregnant with Rachel. She has a lifetime's worth of bridges to rebuild with the daughter that she'd given birth to, so she focuses on the daughter that she's raising, who crashes down giggling in the chair beside her. "That was a fun dance, wasn't it?" Shelby asks her, reaching out to smooth the wayward strands of Beth's hair back into place.

"Yeah. Do they do the chair thing at every wedding?"

Shelby chuckles. Hiram and Leroy had dragged the chairs into the circle halfway through the Horah and urged Rachel and Quinn down onto them before they, along with Kurt, Noah, Steven Piper, Peter Kendrick, and a couple of Quinn's friends that Shelby doesn't really know, had hoisted them into the air and carried them around.

"Mostly just the Jewish ones," Shelby answers with a grin.

"That's cool," Beth decides with a nod. "I kinda thought they were gonna get dropped off of them."

Shelby laughs. "The guys wouldn't have let that happen," she assure her daughter, especially since Rachel had screechingly commanded that they not be dropped. Shelby picks up the wedding program—a very realistic mockup of a Broadway playbill—and idly fans herself with it. "Is it hot in here?"

Beth nods. "A little."

"Do you want something to drink?" Shelby asks, looking around the room. Their water glasses are empty, and now that the dance floor is open and all the plates have been cleared away, the wait staff is few and far between.

"Champagne," Beth suggests with a hopeful grin.

Shelby gently brushes the tip of her daughter's nose with her finger. "Try again, kiddo."

Beth sighs dejectedly. "Coke?" she tries again with the same hopeful look. It isn't often that she's allowed a soft drink, but today is a special occasion, and Shelby is incredibly proud of how well her daughter did in her role of flower girl. She's glad that Beth is getting to be a part of the wedding even though Shelby is barely more than a distant observer to her eldest daughter's life.

"That we can do," she agrees, chuckling at Beth's little fist pump. "Will you be okay here while I head to the bar?"

She's not surprised by the eye-roll she receives or the dramatic, "I'm eleven, Mom. I think I can handle it."

"Sorry. I forgot you're an old lady now," Shelby teases.

Beth gives her that look—the one that never fails to remind her of her daughter's genetics. "Just go already."

"I'll be back in a minute," Shelby tells her, standing up and pointing her body in the direction of the bar. She glances back at Rachel, dancing in Quinn's arms as the band plays "All of Me" and reminds herself that Rachel is happy—and so is Beth. And that's all that she can really hope for.

_xx_

Beth sips on her Coke slowly, savoring the sweet fizziness as long as she can in case her mom cuts her off. Mom is dancing with Noah right now, and she looks like she's having fun. She and Noah get along pretty okay when he comes to visit, and Beth really likes spending time with him. She likes spending time with Quinn too, but she basically gets to see her and Rachel whenever she wants. She's glad they finally got married, but, like, they've been together forever anyway, so she doesn't really get why everybody's being all sappy about it.

But at least there are a lot of cool people here—because Rachel is on Broadway, and Quinn is a writer, and they both know a lot of famous people. Like, Rachel is totally dancing with Steven Piper right now, and Beth thinks he's way cute. Her mom doesn't really let her watch his television show, but she knows who he is from all the magazines and awards ceremonies, and she did get to see him when they went to see Rachel's show.

Quinn slides into the chair next to Beth with a plate of cookies in her hands. "I come bearing sweets," she says with conspiratorial grin.

Beth glances from Quinn to her mom, checking to see that she isn't watching, before she snags one of those flaky cookies with the creamy filling with a hasty, "Thanks," and takes a healthy bite. Her eyes close as she savors the taste, because it's so good, and when she looks at Quinn again, she sees her gazing at Beth thoughtfully. Beth brushes her fingers over her lips in case she's got some crumbs there.

Quinn's expression doesn't really change, but she does say, "I'm sorry there's no one here around your age for you to hang out with."

Beth shrugs one shoulder. "Kinda figured there wouldn't be. I mean, you and Noah were pretty young when you had me."

Quinn sighs and glances away, but Beth still saw that flash of sadness in her eyes that she gets whenever they talk about Beth's birth. "Yeah. We were."

"Noah said he'd dance with me again later," Beth points out. And she's got her phone to entertain her if she gets really, really bored.

"Do I get a dance too?" Quinn asks.

Beth had gotten to dance with her for a minute during the big group thingy, but she knows Quinn means a real dance, like the one Beth had shared with Noah. "If you want."

"Of course I want," Quinn breathes out, reaching out to brush back that strand of Beth's hair that keeps coming loose.

She's looking at Beth the same way Mom looks at her, and it always makes her feel a little weird inside—like soft and gooey but kind of confused because Mom is Mom and Quinn is Quinn, and she knows the difference, but sometimes she really feels like Quinn's daughter. Beth bites into her lower lip as she studies Quinn from under her lashes, silently picking out the features that they share and thinking how much better they look on Quinn. "You look really pretty."

Quinn smiles at her. "So do you. You also look kind of sad," she comments thoughtfully, tipping her head to the side. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I guess," Beth hedges, shrugging again. "It's a little weird, is all." When Quinn frowns and purses her lips with a jerky nod, Beth realizes what she said and what it probably sounded like. "I mean, not, like, you and Rachel, 'cause that's normal," she explains quickly. "Just, like, all these people I don't really know keep telling me how much I look like you, and how I was, like, a baby last time they saw me, and it's weird."

Quinn smiles in understanding. "Well, a lot of them went to school with Rachel and me, so they were there when you were born…more or less."

"Yeah, I guess. It's just," Beth begins, taking a second to think about how to word what she wants to say. "I know you're technically my mother, but Mom is my _mom_ , you know? I feel bad when they tell me how much I look like you when she's standing right there." It's happened a lot already today.

Quinn nods slowly. "Yeah, I guess that would kind of suck," she agrees.

"And I mean…I know Rachel looks like Mom, but nobody's really saying that," Beth points out, glancing out at the dance floor to see them both dancing pretty close to each other but not really. "And I think Mom feels kind of bad, you know? Like…she doesn't get to be the mother of the bride, because our family is kind of messed up," she says bluntly, looking back at Quinn. "I guess I don't really think about it when it's just us hanging out, but today, I'm kind of noticing."

Quinn's eyes go soft and sad. "Oh, Beth. Our family certainly isn't traditional, but," she pauses, smiling in self-deprecation, "well, it's ours. It kind of works for us, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Beth admits with a grin. "And I guess today makes everything official, right? Although," she drawls, furrowing her brows thoughtfully, "I can't quite figure out if Rachel is my step-mother or you're my adopted sister-in-law."

A distressed expression crosses Quinn's face, and she shakes her head quickly. "Okay…don't," she begs, holding up a hand, "just don't try to figure that part out."

Beth giggles, kicking her heels against the legs of her chair. She's mostly just messing with Quinn because it's fun, but she supposes that she shouldn't be too much of a brat about it today. "Okay, okay. You can just keep being my Quinn and my Rachel."

Quinn's face clears, and she smiles lovingly as she covers Beth's hand with her own. "Always," she promises. "We'll always be that."

And Beth is pretty okay with that.

xx

After her talk with Beth, Quinn goes looking for her wife, scanning the faces of her friends and family and smiling because they're all here to share this day with her and with Rachel—whom she can't seem to find at the moment. There's a tap on her shoulder, and she turns, half-expecting to see her wife (and she'll never get tired of that word) but finding Mercedes Jones instead.

"Hey, you," Mercedes greets warmly, and Quinn's smile widens.

"Mercedes," she murmurs as she pulls the woman in for a hug. "I was hoping to find you. You skipped the receiving line," Quinn chastises mildly when she pulls away.

Mercedes grins and shrugs. "Dante needed to step outside for a smoke," she shakes her head at the mention of her fiancé's habit, "and my bladder was about to burst," she admits unabashedly. "I figured I'd find you both eventually. You kind of stand out with the white dresses and all," she jokes, leaning back to eye the details of Quinn's gown with a fond smile. "Girl, I can honestly say you're the most beautiful bride I've ever seen."

Quinn chuckles. "Did you tell Rachel the same thing?"

"Maybe," Mercedes hedges with a sly grin. "But really, Quinn, I don't think I've ever seen you look this happy."

"I don't think I've ever been this happy," Quinn confesses easily, but Mercedes already knows. They've talked a few times over the last several years about the good place that Quinn is in now.

"I still can't believe you married _Rachel Berry_ ," Mercedes muses affectionately, shaking her head. "I can remember back when you were living with me how you used to complain about her almost every day. The way she dressed, the way she walked, the way she talked, the way she smelled," she trails off with a laugh. "Actually, now that I'm saying this out loud, I'm thinking I really should have seen how this was gonna end a long time ago."

Quinn blushes a little because she knows it's mostly true. She'd been so incredibly repressed back then, and Mercedes had gotten a front row seat to the effect of pregnancy hormones on Quinn's already muddled emotional state. She'll be forever grateful that this woman was there for her when no one else was, and she reaches out and takes Mercedes's hand, squeezing it in silent gratitude.

"I'm just glad that we all made it through our crazy teens and came out better for everything we went through," Quinn admits.

"Amen to that," Mercedes agrees with a firm nod, and then she chuckles. "And I'm just realizing that when I finally get to meet Rachel's children, they're gonna be little Fabrays."

Quinn sucks in a quick breath and releases it on a laugh. "Ah...it's still a little soon to be thinking about that," she insists, "but yeah. Yeah, they will be," she murmurs with a soft smile—because Rachel is a Fabray now, and any hypothetical children she might have will be Quinn's children too.

"Maybe not all that soon if that look on your face is anything to go by," Mercedes observes knowingly.

Quinn snaps out of her vague imaginings of a little Rachel Berry running around with pom-poms while singing showtunes and rolls her eyes. "You could at least let us enjoy our honeymoon before you start with the baby talk."

Mercedes wrinkles her nose and holds up her hands in surrender. "Yeah, I don't wanna know about any honeymoons. You know I love you, girl, but I'm just gonna pretend you and Rachel are gonna be singing karaoke and painting each other's nails."

"Well, proper nail care _is_  very important," Rachel points out with a teasing grin, having glided over to Quinn's side just in time to hear what Mercedes had to say about their honeymoon.

"Okay, overshare," Mercedes complains with a grimace.

Quinn giggles as she wraps her arm around Rachel's waist. "And she's only had one glass of champagne," she tells Mercedes, gazing lovingly at her wife.

"Two," Rachel corrects with a guilty smile and joy dancing in her eyes.

"I can't believe you married Rachel Berry," Mercedes repeats.

Quinn still can't quite believe it either, but she's so very happy that she did.

_xx_

Mercedes can still remember the first time that she'd laid her eyes on Rachel, wearing one of those plaid skirt and fugly sweater combos that Santana had (not) joked about earlier. She hadn't known what to make of the loud, competitive, egomaniacal girl, but it hadn't been friendship at first sight. She knows from firsthand experience that Rachel tends to grow on a person the longer you know her—or she just relentlessly wears down your resistance—but there's no way in hell that she ever would have guessed that Rachel would eventually manage to win the heart of Quinn Fabray. Then again, if she's being straight-up honest, for a while there back when they were kids, Mercedes hadn't been sure Quinn Fabray even _had_  a heart.

That had changed sophomore year after she'd watched Quinn's heart get put through the shredder over her baby girl. Mercedes couldn't deny that Quinn had a softer side after that experience, though there'd still been days when it seemed buried way, deep down under a solid layer of bitch.

She doesn't know exactly when the whole Quinn and Rachel thing really started. Sure, she can look back now at Quinn obsessing over everything that was wrong with Rachel or Rachel being overly concerned with Quinn's opinion on everything and think that the signs were probably there, but at the time, they were pretty much the last two people she'd have picked to even speak again after high school—let alone become best friends who'd turn into lovers. And she ain't even talking about the whole gay thing because she _never_  saw that one coming for either of them. Girlfriends had both seemed pretty boy crazy to her as teens—Rachel a little crazier than most.

Mercedes had just about fallen off her chair on the day that she'd called up Quinn to chat and casually asked what was new, only to have Quinn giddily tell her that she was dating _Rachel Berry_ —and then Mercedes had listened in silent shock while Quinn revealed that she'd been into the girl since high school. Of course, the second she'd hung up with Quinn, she'd dialed Kurt and, after checking to make sure that Quinn hadn't been in another accident or something to really mess up her head, had given him an earful for leaving her out of the juicy,gossip loop. Then she'd called Rachel and heard the story all over again from the other side. It had taken Mercedes hearing all three versions before it really started to sink in.

But she couldn't be happier for them now.

That doesn't mean she's down for watching the unprotected eyesex—to borrow one of Santana's colorful phrases—going on right in front of her, so she makes her excuses and slips away with them barely managing to stop touching on each other.

And speak of the devil, Santana's been engaging in her own round of eyesex with Brittany since the ceremony ended, but right now she's hanging out near the bar while she watches Brittany flit around the room making conversation with everyone else but her—even the people she's never met. Mercedes feels for her.

Mercedes does a quick glance around and sees Dante talking with Finn Hudson, probably about football if she knows her fiancé. She really loves him, despite one or two little bad habits that she wishes he could kick, and she loves that he took some time off work to come here with her and hang out with a bunch of people he's never met. Assured that he's keeping himself entertained in her absence, she heads over to the bar to grab herself another glass of that free champagne, stepping up beside Santana with a smile.

"Hey, girl. How are you holding up?"

"Better than those spanx you're wearing," Santana fires back, barely sparing her a glance.

Mercedes chuckles and shakes her head fondly. "Is it weird that I've missed those weak-ass comebacks?"

That gets Santana's full attention, and she turns to Mercedes with an offended expression. "Oh, please. My comebacks are award caliber."

"If we're talking the Razzies, then yeah," Mercedes agrees with a grin.

Santana huffs but lifts the glass that she's holding with a nod and a simple, "Touché," before she takes a sip. "So why'd you hightail it away from the happy couple?" she asks after a moment, smirking at Mercedes. "Don't think I didn't notice."

Mercedes tilts her head and plants a hand on her hip. "Girl, have you seen them get flirty?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "Bitch, I _live_  here."

Mercedes laughs, glancing over at Quinn and Rachel again and seeing them still all tangled up in each other, though they're talking to Artie now. At least he's probably enjoying the show more than she had. "You know, it kind of amazes me that you all stayed so close," she muses to Santana. "New York is a big city. I mean, Puck, Brittany, and I all live in L.A., and we're lucky if we manage to see each other twice a year."

But she supposes that the three of them had never been all that close back in high school to start with.

Santana's smirk is back in force. "Well, you've probably been extra busy with sexual chocolate over there," she says, nodding in his direction.

"His name is Dante," Mercedes reminds her huffily.  _Although, on the scale of Santana's offensive nicknames, that one is pretty accurate_ , she thinks with a secretive smile.

"Whatever," Santana dismisses with a shrug. "He's a definite upgrade from the high school model."

Mercedes frowns, feeling a little offended on Sam's behalf as well as her own. He's a good guy—the relationship just hadn't worked out with the time and distance between them. She supposes it's different for everyone though. Santana and Brittany had made it work long distance for a while, only to realize that they just didn't work once they were living together—at least that's how Brittany tells it.

"Speaking of the high school model," Mercedes attempts carefully.

Santana's eyes shutter, and she immediately goes on the defensive—more so than usual. "We weren't."

Mercedes sighs. "I admit that I don't see her very often, but I know she's been pretty happy with what she's doing and where she's at."

"And you're telling me this because?"

"Look, it was real nice seeing Sam again, but I don't want to pick up where we left off, and not just because I got a man."

She can't imagine diving back into a relationship that proved not to be right for either one of them just because the other person is looking fine. Nostalgia's nice and all, but things end for a reason. Mercedes thinks it's the same for Santana and Brittany, and she doesn't want to see either one of them open up that can of heartbreak all over again just because they're in the same room for a few hours.

"Wow," Santana breathes out in mock awe. "So much unsolicited advice today."

"I just think there's a reason you're over here watching instead of over there," Mercedes points out.

She knows it's the wrong argument to make when she sees Santana's eyes narrow in annoyance. "Yeah? Well, watch this," she challenges, dropping her glass onto the bar and heading straight for Brittany with an exaggerated sway of her hips.

Mercedes shakes her head and hopes that Santana knows what she's doing, because Brittany isn't the same girl she used to be—and not everyone manages to grow together instead of apart.


	5. As Long As It Takes

**Part Five: As Long As It Takes**

* * *

Santana is about halfway to Brittany when she remembers why she'd been hesitating in the first place, and she silently damns Mercedes for the unsolicited advice that had gotten her hackles up. There was a time when she would have been on Brittany like a heat-seeking missile the moment the formalities of this shindig were wrapped up, dragging her off to some closet or bathroom or utility shed somewhere. Hell, she'd almost done exactly that when she'd first seen Britts again, but then she'd had some time to stop and think, and it started to feel less and less like a good idea to go racing down memory lane on a crotch-rocket with no helmet. Mercedes hadn't been entirely wrong about why Santana had been hanging around the bar instead of following Brittany around like an overeager puppy.

But now her feet are moving, and her pride won't let her turn around.

Brittany must sense her coming or something, because she excuses herself from Rachel's friend, Brian, just in time to flash a grin at Santana and offer her a happy, "Hi, San."

"Hey," Santana returns more than a little hoarsely, and she has to clear her throat—so much for playing it cool. "Do you wanna dance?"

Brittany nods, smile widening. "Always." She takes Santana's hand and leads her out onto the dance floor to the wedding band's cover of Shania Twain's "You're Still the One."

_Of course it would be this fucking song_ , Santana thinks, cursing Rachel under her breath—she just _knows_  that Rachel is responsible for this one—but she slips into Brittany's arms as comfortably as she has so many times before and follows the lead of her body as they fall into a familiar rhythm. She's never danced with anyone in quite the same way she dances with Brittany.

"That was a really nice speech you made before," Brittany compliments her.

"Yeah, well, Quinn vetoed the X-rated version," Santana grumbles.

"Oh, can I read it?" Brittany asks, eyes sparkling with interest. "I love porn."

Santana remembers that fact very well, and she grins wickedly. "Maybe later," she evades. "How are you, Britts?"

"Awesome," Brittany answers easily. "I get paid a ton of money to dance and show other people how to dance. Most of them suck," she reveals bluntly, shrugging her shoulders, "but I don't tell them that anymore. Famous people are super touchy about that stuff."

"Yeah, I've noticed," Santana agrees on a chuckle, thinking of Rachel and her vain, little troupe of actor friends. "But you're happy?" she verifies, recalling what Mercedes said.

Brittany scrunches up her face in confusion. "Well, yeah. You can't _not_  be happy in California. It's, like, a rule," she tells Santana seriously. "I _was_  kind of bummed when I found out that Los Angeles wasn't filled with angels," she adds with a small pout. "I mean, hello, City of Angels! That's false advertisement. It should be called Los Pendejos."

Santana barks out a laugh and a surprised, "Britt!"

Her smile softens and so do her eyes, and she leans a little bit closer. "See, I remember the stuff you taught me," she murmurs.

Santana sighs wistfully. "We did have some good times together, didn't we?"

"The best," Brittany agrees.

Santana smiles at her, feeling the tug of happy memories pulling her in. She feels so incredibly old and impossibly young all at the same time, and she's not sure what that means—whether her life is slipping away too fast, or she's still got her best years ahead of her. She wants to think it's the latter, but she doesn't quite know how to get herself off the bridge over the in-between and onto to those greener grasses she keeps staring at.

Brittany pulls her gaze away from Santana and glances around the room. "So, are you getting sweet lady kisses from any of the hotties here?"

Santana smirks a little at the question. She can't exactly deny that she's kissed more than one woman in this room, but, "Not at the moment."

"So you're available?" Brittany presses curiously.

"Yeah," Santana confirms. "What about you?"

Brittany shrugs again. "I've been having sex with a guy on the tour, but we're not dating. So, yeah."

"Oh," Santana breathes out, waiting for the familiar rush of jealousy to wash over her and a little surprised—and maybe a little more relieved—when it doesn't. She's not sure what that means either.

"We could totally have sex tonight if you want," Brittany offers a moment later, causing Santana's steps to falter slightly. The devil on her shoulder is doing a little jig—because _sex_  with Brittany—but that other part of her that pretends to be a rational adult most of the time is making everything more complicated than a simple _yes_  or _no_ —because sex with _Brittany_.

"I…that's…good to know," Santana stutters.

Brittany seems to accept her non-answer easily enough, and she grins, giving Santana a little nod. "So tell me about all your doctor things," she prompts. "Like, you're totally saving lives now...just like Wonder Woman, only without the lasso. Which is really hot, by the way."

Santana doesn't know if Brittany means the lasso or the saving lives, but she supposes that it doesn't really matter either way because neither one of them feel exactly right. "I don't know about that. I mean, I'm trying, and sometimes I really feel like I'm making a difference, you know, but the bad days can be…" she hesitates, shaking her head as she tries to shrug off the sudden weight of those bad moments that never fail to crush her spirit, "really hard to get through," she confesses softly.

"But you've got people here to help you with the bad days," Brittany reminds her knowingly. "Like Quinn and Rachel."

"Yeah. Annoying as they are at times," Santana adds with an affectionate roll of her eyes.

"Do you ever think that it could have been us?" Brittany asks quietly, her blue gaze falling regretfully on Rachel and Quinn as they blissfully dance in one another's arms across the floor.

Santana swallows heavily, her grip on Brittany's shoulder tightening just a little. "Sometimes," she admits. "But you didn't stay."

Brittany's eyes come back to hers, and she shakes her head sadly. "You didn't ask me to."

"You never gave me a chance, Britt," Santana reminds her sourly. "I mean, I know we were on a break and everything, but then you showed up at my apartment out of the blue and told me you were moving to California the _next day_ ," she hisses lowly, distinctly remembering being blindsided by the news of the job that Brittany had been offered and taken and bought plane tickets for and packed for—all without even bothering to tell Santana until the very last second. "All of a sudden the break was a _break-up_ ," she mutters, feeling an echo of the pain that she'd experienced back then with the sinking realization that it was really over.

They'd stopped dancing by now, just standing stupidly in the middle of the floor with their arms on each other's bodies. Brittany shakes her head, dropping her hands and leaving Santana to cross her arms defensively.

"It was always a break-up," Brittany tells her calmly. "I've never been stupid when it comes to you, Santana. I know I stopped being enough for you."

"That's not true," Santana argues weakly.

"It is," Brittany insists. "We stopped talking about anything important a long time before we stopped being girlfriends."

Santana glances away from Brittany's even gaze, unable to meet her eyes and concede that she's right. She remembers the nights that Brittany would come home from the veterinary clinic where she'd been so happy to get a part-time job as an assistant and try to tell Santana all about the cats and dogs that she'd met that day before begging Santana to adopt one. And Santana would have to put her foot down about the _no pets_  rule in her building and ask Brittany to put the animal talk on hold until later so that she could get some paper done.

Or the days when Brittany would work at her other job at the dance studio and come home eager to show Santana the new choreography that she'd invented, and Santana would be too tired to even really pay attention, let alone get off the chair to indulge her by dancing.

And there were times when Santana would come back from class eager to continue some debate that she'd been having about something she'd learned that day, and Brittany would just give her that blank stare and nod and change the subject to something else because she didn't understand it or wasn't interested.

Or— _Dios_ —the damned cats that Brittany would bring home despite Santana telling her repeatedly that they weren't allowed to keep one, and then Brittany would make her feel like a fucking mass-murderer when she'd have to take it to a shelter.

Brittany smiles sadly. "And then we stopped even being friends for a long time, but now we are again." She reaches out and curls her fingers over Santana's wrist where it's tucked into her folded arms and tugs until she pries it loose. "So...let's be friends who dance together at our other friends' wedding and see where the night leads us," she urges without any resentment or expectations.

Santana exhales slowly, trying to ease away the sting of old wounds being reopened as Brittany fits their palms together and returns a hand to Santana's waist. She rests her own hand back on Brittany's shoulder and decides to just follow her lead. For now.

_xx_

Brittany is really enjoying the party. She doesn't get to see her old friends very often, and it's always fun to catch up with them and hear about what boring things they're stuck doing and see if they went bald or got fat. She's also getting to meet so many new people—most of them are nowhere near as awesome and talented as she is, and she knows she'll never see half of them again anyway, but she likes to collect them like stamps and find out which ones are prettier and which ones actually stick to her.

And she's really glad to see Santana again. She's still Brittany's favorite person, even after all these years—even though they aren't together anymore. She doesn't blame Santana, and obviously, she doesn't blame herself either. It'd be kind of pointless now anyway. Brittany is all about moving forward, because moving backwards is really hard, but also because you never know what's going to happen next so it's always new and exciting. Well, if she ever gets her time machine working, she might be able to know what's going to happen, but she's not totally sure if she wants to. Going back in time might be fun though, if only to mess with the people that she used to know.

She'd totally mess with Quinn and Rachel—like one of those little, winged babies with the bow and the arrow. She probably could have done it the first time around if she'd really cared, but frankly, Quinn was kind of mean, and Rachel was like this noisy, little elf that she just wanted to step on most of the time. But Brittany totally knew Quinn was a unicorn way before Santana figured it out. She thinks trying to hide her horn is probably what made her so mean—like Santana, but without the sexy times to loosen her up. Brittany kind of thought Rachel might have been a bicorn too, but again, she hadn't really cared enough to find out for sure. Anyway, Finn Hudson kept Rachel pretty occupied back then so Brittany didn't need to think much about her outside of glee club. That had been just fine for her. It had given her more time to think about Santana.

Brittany really is happy for Quinn though, and that means being happy for Rachel too.

Mostly, though, Brittany is happy for herself because she loves her life. She loves her job, her friends (and admirers) in Los Angeles, and all the different people that she gets to experience. And she loves Santana. That will never change, whether they're friends or girlfriends or whatever they decide to be.

They're taking a little break from the dancing right now—well, Santana is. Too many glasses of champagne mean extra trips to the little girls' room. Brittany is kind of bored waiting for her, so she decides to go collect a new person to entertain herself. There's a brown-haired guy stuffing a cookie into his mouth at a nearby table, and he's all alone, so she skips over and drops into the chair beside him with a smile.

"Hi, I'm Brittany."

The guy chokes a little on his cookie, brushing the crumbs from his mouth with wide eyes as he swallows. "Um, I know?" he says slowly. "We went to school together." Brittany stares at him in concentration as she tries to place him. She guesses he looks a little familiar, but a lot of the guys look alike today with their black suits and gelled hair. She should have used her power as a former president to have hair-gel outlawed from the wedding. "Sam Evans," he supplies with raised eyebrows.

"No," Brittany disagrees. "Sam is blond. I remember because I always thought he was Quinn's secret twin. Even though they dated….which was kind of weird," she admits with a frown. Like, they looked _exactly_  alike. "But I don't judge," she adds with a smile. "Love is love, right?"

Not-Sam looks a little confused, but he tells her, "I stopped dying my hair, but it's me. You know, Trouty Mouth?" he prompts, pointing to his lips.

"Oh," Brittany drawls, recognizing his mouth now. "Oh, yeah. Guess that mouth doesn't lie, huh?" That was a really good song too. She wonders if she can convince Santana to sing it later. And oh!—maybe Rachel will sing "My Headband!" Brittany hasn't heard that one in years. "So what are you up to these days?" she asks Sam.

"I've been doing some modeling in Kentucky," he tells her with a shrug.

Brittany is mildly impressed. "They have models in Kentucky?"

Sam laughs and shrugs. "Yeah. I mean, I end up wearing a lot of plaid and cowboy hats, but it's helping me finish school."

"You're still in school? I thought we graduated together," she mumbles, frowning. She knows that she had to repeat a year, but she's pretty sure she and Sam Evans were both on stage together in the ugly red caps and gowns. Or was that just a glee club performance? "Wait…am I still supposed to be in school too?" she asks, horrified by the thought of it.

Sam shakes his head. "No. I'm finishing college," he explains. "I didn't have the money to go right after high school, so I was working a bunch of crappy jobs for a while until I kind of fell into the modeling thing, but I wanted to do something more meaningful, you know?"

"Not really." Modeling is almost as good as being a dancer. Why would anyone want to do something else?

"Well, I always thought about maybe teaching, so I finally decided to just go for it. Better late than never, right? I've only got one more semester to go," he tells her with a grin.

Brittany grins back, deciding to humor him. "That's awesome. Not as awesome as working with A-List pop stars, but still pretty impressive." And actually, it kind of is when she thinks about it. He can, like, turn some hopeless, sad kid into a superhero or a mad science-fictionist or the President of the United Auto Workers of America. "Molding young minds is totally hot," Brittany purrs, sliding her chair a little closer.

Sam's eyes widen in surprise. "Oh, um…thanks."

"You know, you're really cute," she realizes, checking him out. "Why didn't we date?" she wonders out loud.

Sam shrugs. "Maybe we did in some alternate universe."

Brittany gasps in delight at finding someone who _gets it_. "Oh…and maybe other you and other me totally got married through the Mayan Church. And other Quinn and other Rachel never got married at all because they only talked, like, one time after high school. Maybe other Quinn ended up with other Puck, and other Rachel is on some really bad television show that's all about her," she speculates, stopping when she considers what a television show all about Rachel would actually look like. "That would be awful," she decides. "Other me would never watch that."

"Other me probably wouldn't either," Sam confesses with a crooked smile.

"Time travel," Brittany blurts out excitedly. If Sam believes in alternate versions of them, then maybe she can tell him about her time machine without him looking at her like she's crazy.

"What?"

"My machine's still got a few bugs in it, but if I can get them to fly away, I'm totally going back in time to see if temporal paradoxes are a thing or if we, like, create a new parallel universe every time," she explains. And she'll also mess with Quinn and Rachel, and maybe have a lot more sexy-times with Santana, though she doesn't tell Sam about that.

Sam's face goes blank for a minute—Brittany knows the look, and not just from practicing her own in the mirror—but then his eyes flash with understanding. "That…would actually be kind of cool," he exclaims with his own growing excitement.

Brittany smiles widely. "I know, right?"

She's definitely going to want to talk to Sam some more in between dances with Santana.

_xx_

Sam can't really say he'd been all that surprised when he found out that Quinn was gay. Actually, it kind of explained a lot about their short-lived relationship, although he still can't say if that makes what happened between them better or worse. He doesn't like the idea that he might have been just her beard, but at least Finn and Puck had pretty much been in the same boat—none of them ever really had a chance at making her happy in the long run.

He can't even say that he'd been all that surprised to find out that she'd fallen for Rachel Berry. That also explained a whole lot about their relationship and all the times that he'd had to hear Rachel's name interrupt their conversations or their dates or their make-out sessions. Sam had hated it back when he was Quinn's boyfriend because he'd thought it meant that Quinn was still hung-up on Finn and pissed because Rachel had him, and after everything that had gone down with the cheating, it had seemed like he'd been right. Except now he thinks all the Rachel stuff really _was_  about Rachel all along.

The only thing that really  _had_ surprised him was that _Rachel_  had fallen for _Quinn._  Not that Quinn isn't easy to fall for—anyone could, and Sam can attest to that—but, well, he just hadn't figured she'd ever be Rachel's type. He knows he missed some of the Finn stuff while it was happening, but he'd been around for enough of it to think of Rachel as Finn's girl, even after they'd gone their separate ways, and Sam guesses he'd figured that Rachel would just naturally gravitate toward the same kind of guy—er, person. Quinn is nothing like that, but there's no denying that Rachel is _Quinn's_  girl now—no, Quinn's _wife_.

It's good to see Quinn happy and settled, especially after Brittany had filled his mind with all those other Quinns and other Rachels that didn't sound so happy at all.

Rachel is currently dancing with some other guy, and Sam figures it's as good a time as any to see if he can steal a dance with Quinn. Because that's one of the things you do at wedding receptions, right? Eat the food and drink the booze and take turns dancing with the bride—well, _brides_  in this case. So he runs his fingers through his hair, straightens his tie, and walks up to Quinn with a smile.

"Can I have a dance with the prettiest bride?"

"Rachel is over there," Quinn tells him with a grin, inclining her head in her wife's direction.

Sam chuckles. "She _is_  really pretty," he admits with a shrug, holding out his hand for her, "but you're… _Quinn_."

She laughs as she slides her palm into his, following him onto the dance floor as she asks him, "What does that even mean?"

"That you're Quinn?" he clarifies as he gingerly places his palm against her waist, aware that Rachel is only a few feet away and that her eyes are darting over in their direction.

"Yes," she confirms, falling into step with him as if the last time they danced together had been yesterday instead of nine years ago. "Rachel says it all the time in just that way, like it's the highest compliment or the most obvious explanation for everything. It's sweet, but I've never really understood it."

Sam shrugs again, thinking that it's pretty obvious. "Well, it's like…there are these levels of adjectives, right? You've got good and great and fantastic and amazing, or you've got cute and pretty and beautiful and gorgeous. And then…you've got _Quinn_."

She laughs again, shaking her head. "That's completely ridiculous."

"But true," Sam argues good-naturedly. "Rachel gets it."

Quinn's smile grows soft and adoring, and her eyes sparkle with undisguised happiness. "Rachel is," she pauses, blushing in embarrassment, " _Rachel_."

"See, you get it too."

"I guess I do," Quinn admits, gazing tenderly at her wife.

Sam studies her face, losing his breath for just a moment at her beauty. She's always been beautiful—because, well, she's _Quinn_ —but her beauty is somehow intensified by the light in her eyes and the easiness of her smile and just the whole air of happiness that surrounds her. And he knows all of that is _Rachel_. All of Quinn's defenses are down, and he feels like he's really seeing her for the first time—no walls or masks or unspoken sadness. He wishes that he could have seen her like this a long time ago, but then he might have fallen for her even harder, and that would have sucked for him, because—

"She's always been your kryptonite."

"What?" Quinn asks, returning her attention to him.

"Your weakness. You know, like Superman?"

"No, I know what kryptonite means," she assures him with a tiny grin. "I'm just wondering why you would say that."

"Because she got to you. Every time. Whether she was making you angry or making you want to be a better person," he points out. "If she'd been a dude, I probably would have figured out you were into her on the very first day we met."

"You're wrong," she tells him with a thoughtful expression, and he's ready to argue the point and remind her that she'd brought up Rachel's name the first time they'd been alone together, but he realizes that she's not really denying it when she says, "Rachel isn't my weakness. She's my strength."

"I don't know. You're pretty damn strong on your own," he points out unnecessarily. Not a lot of people have gone through all of the stuff that Quinn has gone through and made it out alive on the other side. "Rachel just…amplifies it," he acknowledges.

Quinn smirks at that. "Well, she _is_  really good at amplifying things," she agrees jokingly, glancing at Rachel again.

Sam laughs, but he knows better than to agree with her out loud. "So, who's that guy anyway?" he finally asks, nodding at the pair.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "One of Rachel's exes. Peter Kendrick," she says with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.

"And you invited him to the wedding?" Sam questions in disbelief.

"It's not like he's the only one here," Quinn reminds him with playful smile and an arched eyebrow. "A few of them are even mine."

"Oh, yeah. I guess so," Sam realizes embarrassedly before he checks out the guy again. He looks a little bit like Finn, but not really. His hair is a few shades lighter, and he doesn't tower over Rachel in quite the same way. He's much prettier too. Aesthetically, Sam thinks they make a fairly attractive couple, but there's no doubt in his mind that Rachel definitely made the right choice with Quinn. "He kind of looks like that guy from those auto insurance commercials," he comments off-handedly.

Quinn laughs delightedly. "He is. Don't mention it to him though. He hates that he had to betray his classical training to pay some bills."

"You want to go cut in?" he prompts after a moment.

Quinn's eyebrows lift in amusement. "You want to dance with Peter?" she teases.

"Uh, no," he denies clumsily. "I mean, I guess I could if you want to dance with your wife," he offers amiably. "I don't have a problem with it. But I actually thought I could steal Rachel for a minute and tell her how incredibly lucky she is to have you," he explains.

"Well, I'm not about to argue with that," Quinn tells him with a smile.

Sam nods and spins her around, gripping her hand in an exaggerated tango hold and aiming for Rachel to the sounds of Quinn's laughter. It's music to his ears.

_xx_

"Is it inappropriate for me to tell you how incredibly beautiful you look today?" Peter Kendrick wonders as he gazes down at Rachel Fabray. It's a bit odd to think of her by that name, but he's always been a staunch proponent of acclimating to change as quickly and painlessly as possible.

He'd first met Rachel in the midst of one of those changes—the unfortunate departure of former colleagues from the acting troupe that he'd been a fixture in for years had resulted in an influx of wet-behind-the-ears performers, one of whom had been the very demanding, slightly narcissistic, yet incredibly talented woman in his arms. He hadn't been immediately impressed by her attitude, but he'd certainly appreciated her capability and professionalism on the stage.

She'd intrigued him, enough that he'd broken one of his own rules by dating a costar. Technically, he supposes, she hadn't been a costar at the time, since he hadn't officially asked her out on a date until after their last performance at the end of the summer. The numerous discussions that they'd had over coffee after rehearsals hadn't counted since they'd all begun as group events before their companions had inevitably gotten bored or tired and been on their way until only Rachel and Peter had been left nursing their cold coffees.

He doesn't regret their relationship, despite the inevitable fizzling out of their romance. Rachel is truly a one of a kind personality, and he's glad that they've managed to stay on friendly terms over the years.

Rachel pulls her gaze away from Quinn, where it's been for much of the time that Peter has known her, and smiles. "Not if it's true," she tells him, more than happy to accept his compliment.

"It is," he assures her. "Marriage obviously suits you."

Rachel laughs. "I'm obviously going to agree, but it _has_  only been three hours," she reminds him.

"Three hours and seven years in the making," he corrects with a self-effacing grin, dating her feelings for Quinn back at least as long as he'd known the women.

"Five," Rachel barters with a guilty flush. "Or possibly ten," she admits apologetically, "depending on how you look at it."

Peter only smiles. He doesn't begrudge her for falling in love with her best friend, and he doesn't consider what he had with Rachel to be the epic romance of a lifetime, but he does have enough of an ego to know that it would have taken a considerable hit had he realized that Quinn had been his very real competition for Rachel's affection while they'd still been together. Thankfully, he'd remained blissfully ignorant of any romantic undercurrents to their friendship until long after he and Rachel had gone their separate ways.

"So what's next?" he asks her.

"Quinn and I live happily ever after, of course," Rachel answers without hesitation.

He laughs. "Well, that goes without saying. But I meant, what are you planning to do after the wedding? Are you taking a honeymoon, or is it straight back to work for you?"

"Oh," Rachel breathes, her smile falling into a tiny frown. "Unfortunately, I couldn't get an extended leave from the show," she complains testily. "The producers grumbled about even allowing me five days. They actually suggested that I wait to get married until my contract ends! Can you even believe that?" she asks incredulously.

"They obviously have no sense of romance," Peter agrees sympathetically.

"Exactly!" Rachel exclaims, lightly slapping his shoulder in emphasis. Then she sighs and shakes her head in resignation. "I plan to take Quinn on a real honeymoon eventually, but for the moment, we'll have to settle for a few days at this quaint, little cottage that I found in East Hampton. It's supposedly only a short walk to the beach," she informs him.

"That sounds nice," Peter muses, thinking of his last trip there. It had felt good just to get out of Manhattan for a few days and relax.

"Not nearly as nice as Paris would have been," Rachel grumbles.

"I'm sure you'll get there," Peter reassures her. "It's such a beautiful city. I was so glad that I managed to carve out some time to spend there while I was living in London."

"Not that you're _at all_  rubbing this in while I'm complaining that I can't take my wife there for another six months at least." Rachel drawls huffily.

Peter chuckles and flashes her a grin. "No. Not at all."

Rachel shakes her head, slapping his shoulder again, this time in mild chastisement. "You can be such a jerk sometimes, Peter Kendrick."

"I guess that's why you married Quinn instead of me."

Rachel sighs again. "No. I married her because she's _Quinn_."

Peter nods in muted understanding, even though he's never had his own _Quinn_  to serve as a touchstone in his life. He's enough of a realist to know how rare it is for someone to find a person who will seamlessly fill in all of his or her empty spaces, but he's just enough of a romantic to hope that he will someday. It certainly seems that Rachel has, and he couldn't be happier for her.

Peter can admit that he might even be a little envious of them both, and he's not at all surprised when he feels the firm but gentle tap on his left shoulder, because he could very clearly see Quinn's approach reflected in Rachel's eyes, even if it isn't Quinn who politely asks him _,_  "Do you mind if we cut in?"

Peter smiles good-naturedly at the gentleman. "I'm but a mere supporting player, and thus defer to the lovely brides," he says as he releases his hold on Rachel and bows his head.

He can see Quinn roll her eyes while Rachel shakes her head at his dramatics, and then she takes her wife's hand for a moment and leans in to claim a quick kiss. "The next dance is mine," she promises before she reluctantly steps away and allows the man to sweep Rachel into a friendly dance.

"I don't suppose you'd like to dance?" Peter asks Quinn politely. It seems only fair that he should.

She glances sideways at him and shrugs. "I'm not doing anything else at the moment."

Peter smiles at her familiar reluctance to agree with him and offers his hand to the woman who holds Rachel's heart.

_xx_

Past differences aside, Peter Kendrick isn't a bad guy. Most women (and more than a few men) would find him incredibly attractive—perhaps not quite as classically handsome as Steven, but still pretty easy on the eyes with his square jaw, green eyes, and brooding features. And as much as Quinn likes to poke fun at his classical training, he can quote Shakespeare and most of the romantic poets off the cuff, and he actually knows the _meaning_  of what's he's saying. It's not just a script to be memorized for him. He probably could have been a literary scholar if he hadn't been bitten by the acting bug. It's one of the reasons that he'd always gotten under Quinn's skin just a little more than the other men that Rachel had dated, with the exception of Finn Hudson. If Finn was the guy who would have never been good enough for her, then Peter was the guy who was—the one who actually could have been perfect for Rachel.

But he isn't.  _Quinn_  is.

"Rachel was telling me about your honeymoon plans," he mentions conversationally.

Quinn can feel her eyebrows arch, because Rachel has had a few glasses of champagne by now, so that could mean anything. "Really?" she asks warily.

Peter grins. "Don't worry. It wasn't anything that could be considered inappropriate," he assures her knowingly. "She just mentioned that you'll be heading to the Hamptons because she isn't able to take you to Paris right now."

Quinn sighs. "I keep telling her she doesn't need to worry about that. I'm more than happy just to get out of Manhattan and relax for a few days." And it's true. Paris is a dream of hers, but she can wait. She knows they'll make it there eventually.

He nods in understanding. "Well, if you happen to find the time while you're relaxing, you should check out Harper's Books. It's this rare book shop and gallery that I stumbled into last year, and I think you'll probably like it."

Quinn's lips quirk into a little grin, because she thinks that she'll probably like it too. Damn it. "I'll keep it in mind. Thanks."

"Speaking of books, there's some woman here that practically molested Aileen when she mentioned that she was your editor. Apparently, she's your biggest fan. I was getting the strangest _Misery_  vibes from her," he warns Quinn with a frown. "I think she might be a wedding crasher."

Quinn bites her lip to keep from laughing. "No, unfortunately she was invited. She's Finn Hudson's wife." And Quinn has been doing a pretty good job of avoiding her for the most part. Poor Aileen.

"Ah," Peter breathes in mild relief. "I didn't realize." He glances around the room, nodding when he spots them over by the dessert table. Finn is fishing around for something in the chocolate fountain with a spoon, and Quinn shakes her head in exasperation, though she's grateful that he's using a spoon instead of his fingers. "They make a…lovely couple," Peter comments hesitantly, frowning before he shakes his own head. "Still, you might want to make sure to avoid being alone with her," he whispers.

Quinn laughs. "I appreciate your concern."

"It's completely genuine, you know," he tells her with a friendly smile. "I've always liked you, Quinn. Although I know that I'm not high on your list of favorite people."

"You're a little higher than you used to be," Quinn admits, far less grudgingly that she would have a few years ago.

Peter sighs dramatically. " _Like dogs in a wheel, birds in a cage, or squirrels in a chain, ambitious men still climb and climb, with great labor, and incessant anxiety, but never reach the top_.¹"

Quinn barks out a laugh. "Quoting Browning at me?" she accuses with a grin.

He gifts her with a dazzling smile. "See, the fact that you recognize that it why I like you. That...and you really do make Rachel incredibly happy." He shrugs. "But then, you always did."

Quinn flushes with pleasure, squeezing his hand as their dance comes to an end. "See…there you go, inching up another notch on the list."

Peter nods, gracing the back of Quinn's hand with a soft kiss. "One rung at a time," he acknowledges with a grin before he escorts her over to Rachel and graciously takes his leave.

Rachel only spares him a brief glance as he goes, and then she turns her sparkling eyes on Quinn as she reaches for her hand. She looks like she's about to say something, but the sudden boom of Santana's voice over the microphone pulls their attention to the stage.

"I'm a little out of practice at this," Santana announces, standing in front of the band like she belongs there while her eyes seek out Quinn and Rachel. "But this one's for the brides."

Quinn immediately recognizes the opening chords of "Take My Breath Away," and she turns to her wife with a smile, slipping her arms around Rachel's waist in a silent invitation to dance.

"Did you know she was going to do this?" Rachel asks in surprise as she slides her own arms around Quinn's shoulders.

"Not a clue." Quinn admits, but she's touched that her best friend is singing the song that had been playing when Rachel and Quinn had shared their first dance—the song that Santana and Quinn had sung together back in high school when Quinn had just been beginning to understand that she'd want to be the one dancing with Rachel for the rest of her life. "But we should take advantage of it."

Rachel nods and melts into Quinn's body with a sigh. "I feel like I've barely danced with you all night," she pouts.

Quinn laughs. "It does only seem to be one out of every five if we're lucky. But this one is definitely mine," she purrs, holding her wife even closer as they dance together.

"All yours," Rachel agrees happily. "And later tonight, you'll be all mine."

Quinn shivers at the husky promise in Rachel's voice. She can't wait to make love to her wife for the first time, especially after they'd spent the past two weeks settling for all teasing and no pleasing to make their wedding night even more special. But for now—for now, Quinn is content just to be in Rachel's arms and absorb every moment of this beautiful day into her memory.

She doesn't ever want to forget a single thing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ _Robert Browning_
> 
> _Translation:_   
> _Los Pendejos – assholes_


	6. Not Scared of the Elements

**Part Six: Not Scared of the Elements**

* * *

Kurt is losing his touch. He must be. There was time when he'd have been the first person to barge onto the stage and belt out a torch song in honor of his best friend's wedding, but Santana Lopez had beaten him to the punch. Granted, it had been a lovely gesture, but lovely gestures aren't exactly something that Santana is generally known for. That would be _his_  forte, but he didn't even think to arrange a song with the band. Ergo—he is losing his touch.

It's a shame too, because the bass player is very attractive, and Kurt is certain that he's been checking him out for the last hour. He wishes that he was more inspired to act on it, but he's still a bit disenchanted with romance after his last relationship. Rachel keeps telling him that he's an idiot for breaking things off with Rodger, and maybe he is, but he'd sadly discovered that he's just not cut out to be in a relationship with someone who risks his life on the job every day—never knowing if, one day, his partner just won't come home again. Kurt knows that could happen with anyone at any time, but it's different when you have to constantly live in dread of it.

But today is not the day to be thinking maudlin thoughts. It's a day meant for celebrating Rachel and Quinn, their love for each other, and the crazy little family that they've all made together. He feels like a proud brother to the brides, and he's certainly been enjoying himself, making his way around the room and catching up with old friends. He's especially enjoyed chatting with Mercedes and finally having the chance to check out her fiancé up close and in person. Kurt very much approves of the man, but he really does need to find the time to take a trip to Los Angeles before her wedding, especially since he'd offered to design her wedding gown. She seems suitably impressed with the ones he'd designed for Rachel and Quinn—though wedding gowns are not his specialty. He's thinking that he should add them to his repertoire after his smashing success today.

In any case, he's happy that _this_  wedding has gone off without a hitch—well, apart from that worrisome little delay when Quinn had been stuck in traffic—and that the reception has been thus far free from disturbances or drunken shenanigans. Of course, there's still time and more than one suspect capable of causing mischief. He's keeping his eye on Jesse St. James. Mostly though, he's keeping his eyes on Rachel and Quinn, because the way that they're radiating happiness around the room is a joy to watch.

He's currently watching them from the bar where he's waiting for his Cape Codder. It's never a good sign when you have to explain to the bartender how to make your drink, but he supposes that he really can't complain when the liquor is free. He should have just called it a Vodka Cranberry and been done with it.

"Hello, Kurt," comes a familiar voice from behind him, and he turns to see Steven Piper ease up to the bar with a friendly smile.

Kurt returns it easily enough. "Steven," he greets with a nod.

The man is certainly easy to look at—a sun-kissed, blond Adonis in tailored Armani. It's such a shame that his wardrobe is the only part of him that's out of the closet. Of course, Kurt isn't supposed to know that—no one is—but Rachel is his best friend, and it was his shoulder that she'd first cried on when she'd finally discovered that the man she was starting to fall for back in college was gay. He can't help being a little disappointed that his friendship with Rachel had prevented him from taking his chances with Steven back then, because there's no way it can ever happen now with the paparazzi following the man's every move and Kurt being so very not interested in being anyone's dirty, little secret. It had bothered him considerably that Rodger wouldn't tell his coworkers about his sexuality, but at least he'd been out to his family and friends.

When the bartender slides Kurt's drink onto the bar, Steven orders two glasses of sauvignon blanc—undoubtedly one for himself and one for his date. "I'm surprised you're not up there singing as well," he comments.

Kurt raises an eyebrow as his lifts his glass. "I could say the same of you. You are the one currently starring on Broadway."

Steven chuckles and shakes his head. "It's my night off. Thankfully, Rachel scheduled her wedding for our dark night, but unlike her, I have to go back to work tomorrow, so I'm saving my voice. Her understudy isn't quite as generous with covering up my little flubs."

Kurt smiles at that. Generous isn't a word that most people use to describe Rachel Berry—Rachel _Fabray_  now—but that's only because they don't take the time to really look beyond her obvious personality quirks. He'd made that mistake for several years, and he'd nearly missed out on an incredible friendship because of it. He's so very glad that Rachel was willing to give him a second chance.

"Well, I doubt any little mistakes you might make will have much effect on your popularity. You certainly seem to have more than a few admirers here tonight." Kurt has seen a number of women either eyeing him up with appreciation or outright approaching him to fan-girl, including Tina, Harmony, and even Judy Fabray, who had blushed like a schoolgirl when she'd met him.

Steven shrugs. "It's flattering, but I'd rather they be admiring the brides, who, by the way, look gorgeous," he observes with a grin before collecting one of the wine glasses from the bar. "You did a fabulous job with their gowns," he compliments, lifting his glass to Kurt.

Kurt flushes with pleasure, raising his own glass and tapping against the rim of Steven's. "Thank you, sir."

As Steven sips his wine, his hazel eyes dart out to where Rachel and Quinn are finishing a dance. "I envy them," he murmurs quietly after a moment.

Kurt suspects that his reasons are slightly darker than the desire to find his own epic love. After all, Rachel is living her life openly, unconcerned with the effect that marrying another woman might have on her blossoming career. Kurt does feel a bit sorry for the man, but he's living in a prison of his own making. "I think we all want a little of what they have," he says mildly.

Steven smiles ruefully. "Well, I wish you better luck with achieving it than I'm destined to have." It's probably as close as he'll come to admitting that he's unhappy with his choices. He slides the second glass of wine off the bar, holding it lightly in his left hand. "If you'll excuse me, I should probably get back to Gabriella."

Kurt nods and watches him walk back to his date. She's been spending most of the night enjoying the company of Jessica Foster, whom Kurt is certain that she'd never met before, and he can't help wondering if she and Steven are playing the same game of hide and seek with the truth. She has to be getting something out of her arrangement with him, but it's really none of Kurt's business—as much as the idea of juicy gossip still tempts him, he's come a long way since high school.

They all have.

He sees the proof all around him, in the faces of his old friends who have all left their difficult, often embarrassing pasts behind them and moved on to successful careers and relationships and cities far away from Lima, Ohio. Well, except for Finn, but even he's managing to run a thriving business and have a (mostly) happy marriage. Frankly, Kurt is a little surprised that's working out so well for him, but he's glad that his step-brother seems to have finally found his place in the world—even if he is currently revisiting his past.

Kurt is already on his way back to the table when he sees Finn approach Rachel and Quinn with his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket, chatting with them for a moment before he tips his head toward the dance floor. Harmony hangs back with a frown and her arms crossed over her stomach while Rachel turns to Quinn, who leans in to kiss Rachel chastely and then lets her go off to dance with Finn.

Quinn doesn't exactly look happy to be left alone with Harmony, and Harmony simply doesn't look happy, so Kurt makes a calculated detour, approaching them just as Harmony purses her lips and tears her eyes away from the awkward dance that Finn and Rachel are sharing. "So, tell me all about your next book," Harmony addresses Quinn with a too-wide smile. "I just know that I'll love every word of it."

Kurt glides to Quinn's side, slipping an arm around her waist. "Ah ah...no spoilers allowed," he tuts with a grin. "Even I can't get more than a vague synopsis out of this one, though I agree that Quinn can be quite the wordsmith when she wants to be."

Quinn sends him a grateful smile. "I can probably send you an advanced copy once it's ready for print," she politely offers Harmony.

Harmony's eyes spark with excitement. "Oh, that would be so incredible. I loved your first book so much. It really spoke to me. In fact, if you have a few minutes to spare," she begins, and Kurt feels Quinn give a sharp tug to the back of his jacket.

He knows how to take a hint. "Harmony, I'm afraid that I simply have steal Quinn away for a moment," Kurt interrupts. "A best man's duty is never done. I know you understand."

Harmony frowns again, but she nods and says, "Of course."

"Come with me, my dear," Kurt beckons Quinn, gracefully leading her away from Finn's wife. "We have much to discuss."

Quinn easily falls into step with him, leaning into his side as they walk. "God, thank you," she murmurs. "I know it's terrible, but I just can't deal with her fawning over me. I don't know how Rachel manages with her more enthusiastic fans."

Kurt chuckles. "Oh, honey, you know Rachel thrives on that kind of attention, but there's certainly no shame in wanting to follow a more modest path. That being said, I have a feeling that Harmony Hudson is only the beginning of your fan club."

"I can't wait," Quinn drawls with a decided lack of enthusiasm before her eyes drift to where Finn and Rachel are dancing.

"Does that bother you?" Kurt asks, watching her face, which is frustratingly void of any obvious emotion.

"Having a fan club?" Quinn verifies distractedly.

"No. The Finchel flashback happening over there," he clarifies.

Quinn's lips twist into a wry smile. "I really hate that portmanteau," she mutters. "But believe it or not, I don't actually mind much. I know that Rachel has been over him for a long time, and Finn even asked me for my permission first, which was, frankly, kind of satisfying," she admits with a smug grin.

Kurt hums thoughtfully. "Well, while your bride is otherwise occupied, would you care to take a turn around the floor with me, Mrs. Fabray?"

Quinn's smile is radiant, and she nods. "I'd be delighted."

Kurt sets his glass aside on the nearest table and extends his elbow for Quinn, and she happily accepts, following him into a friendly dance.  He’d meant what he said in his speech—there really is no one that he trusts more with Rachel’s heart than Quinn. That hasn’t always been the case, of course. When they were younger, Kurt had wondered more than once why Rachel wouldn’t just write off Quinn as a lost cause instead of repeatedly trying to become her friend, but it simply isn’t in Rachel’s nature to give up on anyone. It had taken a few years, but eventually Kurt started to see glimpses of the Quinn that Rachel had seen—the one beneath the steel wall that she’d erected around her emotions; the one who believed in Rachel more than she believed in herself and would do anything to make sure Rachel Berry never gave up chasing her dreams.  Quinn had gradually won over Kurt as surely as she’d won over Rachel, and he’s very happy that his best friend found someone who cherishes her in the way she deserves to be cherished.

At the end of their dance, Rachel is quick to return to Quinn's side, smiling gratefully at Kurt. "So on point with your gallantry tonight," she compliments. "But I'm reclaiming my wife now."

Kurt just knows that Rachel is going to be using that word constantly now instead of simply calling Quinn by her name, but Quinn doesn't seem to mind if her smile is anything to judge by. "I wouldn't dream of keeping her from you," he assures her.

Rachel turns her body into Quinn and gazes up at her with a soft smile. "I think there are a couple of chairs somewhere with our names on them."

Quinn grins. "Getting tired of all the attention already?"

Rachel scoffs. "Of course not. But I may have forgotten how physically taxing it can be to dance with Finn," she admits guiltily, flushing slightly. "My toes might need a moment or two to recover."

Quinn giggles and pulls Rachel a little closer. "Do you need me to carry you?"

"Not yet. Save your strength for later, baby," Rachel warns.

Kurt clears his throat. "I believe that's my cue to disappear," he says with a chuckle.

Rachel sends him a pointed look. "I meant for carrying me over the threshold," she explains while Quinn attempts to stifle her laughter.

They excuse themselves after that, and Kurt watches them start back to the bridal table arm-in-arm, only to be waylaid yet again when Josie Deveraux approaches them, but it doesn't diminish their overall state of bliss. He thinks again about how far they've come, and how many bad choices they've overcome along the way. Maybe he is still waiting for his own happy ending, but Rachel and Quinn are proof to him that every wrong turn can lead you on the perfect journey when you finally get it right.

_xx_

Josie remembers the first time that she'd met Quinn Fabray. The party itself wasn't all that memorable—one of a dozen others just like it at a frat house at Yale—but her friend, Holly, had convinced her to go with a group of her cheerleader friends that included Megan, whom Josie had met at the beginning of that semester, and Megan's roommate, Quinn. Josie would be lying if she said that she hadn't been attracted to the aloof blonde from the get-go, so she'd naturally spent a good portion of the night admiring her from a polite distance. She'd watched Quinn sit stiffly in a chair in the corner while she'd nursed her drinks and let her eyes wander steadily around the room, and Josie had been nearly certain that she'd seen those eyes linger for longer than was normal on more than one woman, so eventually, she'd taken a chance and asked Quinn to dance with her.

She hadn't realized that Quinn was still firmly in the closet until the girl had panicked and run out on her. Josie had felt pretty badly about that, but eventually, she and Quinn managed to navigate past that awkward first encounter to begin what Josie hopes will be a lifelong friendship. And maybe there had been a time or two back in college when she'd let herself wonder what might have happened if they'd met just a little bit later along the road of Quinn's self-discovery, but she only needs to take one look at the way Quinn lights up whenever she's with Rachel to know that it really wouldn't have changed a single thing. The two of them have always been headed for this moment.

Josie does wish that Sarah's heart hadn't gotten trampled in the process, but she can't exactly regret any of the decisions that had brought them all here. She has Sarah, and Quinn has Rachel, and they're all pretty happy about the way it's worked out. And even though she knows that Sarah will forever grumble about all things Rachel, she also knows that her girlfriend is very much over the past and very much looking forward to a future with her.

She was admittedly doing a little fishing earlier today, looking to see how receptive Sarah might be to taking the next step in their relationship. Josie certainly isn't planning to propose tomorrow, but it's good to know that Sarah sees them heading in the same direction that she does. With any luck, Quinn and Rachel will be dancing at  _their_ wedding before long.

"What's that smile about?" Quinn asks her in good-humor as they take a turn around the dance floor.

Josie's smile only grows. "Just thinking about the first time we met."

Quinn grimaces slightly. "That wasn't exactly my finest moment."

Josie laughs. "Well, I do admit, after the big, gay panic, I never guessed that I'd end up dancing with you at your big, gay wedding."

Quinn chuckles. "It is kind of gay, isn't it?"

"Two brides, one of whom is on Broadway, a gay maid of honor, an even gayer best man," Josie ticks off the list. "Not to mention the fathers of the bride and probably half the guests. I have to say, you've come a long way from your days of running out of parties after kissing girls."

"That only happened once," Quinn defends with a grin. "And anyway, I could remind you of how far _you've_  come from your days of kissing unsuspecting girls at parties."

Josie laughs outright at that. "Not as far as you might think," she confesses, thinking of a certain New Year's Eve party and a spontaneous kiss that had taken Sarah by surprise. "But there's only one girl that I'm interested in kissing these days," she murmurs, gazing over at Sarah to find her watching them as she sits next to Rachel—because Sarah had steadfastly ignored Josie's suggestion that she should ask Rachel to dance.

Quinn nods thoughtfully. "I know that I was a little hesitant about it when you first started seeing Sarah, but I really am glad the two of you found each other," she admits. "It's good to see you both so happy."

"Likewise," Josie agrees. "Even if our better halves don't look particularly happy at the moment," she quips, glancing back in their direction.

Quinn follows her line of sight and chuckles. "Maybe we should go rescue them from the awkward small talk?"

"I do still need to collect on my dance with your lovely and talented wife," Josie reminds her, watching Quinn's smile blossom and her eyes sparkle in delight from just hearing that word again. She can't really blame her—Rachel is absolutely perfect for Quinn, and she knows that Quinn feels incredibly blessed to have married her. Josie has a feeling that she'll be feeling the exact same way someday.

Of course, first she'll have to ask permission from Sarah's parents. That's another rule of proper etiquette that her mother had drilled into her head from a fairly young age, crossing the lines of gender and sexuality as soon as she'd realized that her daughter was just as likely to propose as be proposed to. Josie has already been instructed more than once by both of her parents not to let Sarah get away—as if she has any intention of allowing that to happen. She'll follow Sarah wherever she decides to go, whether it's Michigan or Greece or the middle of the desert. She'll just have to invest in a lot of really strong sunscreen if it ends up being the desert.

Josie gracefully spins Quinn around before they head over to the table. After gracing Sarah with a loving smile, she offers her hand to Rachel with a grin. "Your turn, Mrs. Fabray."

Rachel's eyelashes flutter, and she sighs in contentment as she slips her hand into Josie's and stands. "Have I mentioned that I love being called that?"

Josie considers the question with exaggerated care. "It's possible." She'd certainly mentioned how much she loves being called Quinn's wife.

"And I'll keep mentioning it too," Rachel primly informs them all before smiling adoringly at Quinn. "Perhaps you'll have better luck convincing Sarah to dance than I did," she tells her wife before she and Josie step out onto the dance floor.

Josie understands that it's Rachel's way of telling Quinn that she doesn't mind if she shares a dance with her ex-girlfriend. Josie doesn't mind it either, not that it would matter if she did, but she trusts Sarah, and she trusts Quinn. She thinks that Rachel trusts them too, but she knows it had taken her some time to get comfortable with Quinn and Sarah reestablishing a friendship. Honestly, there were times in the early days of her own relationship with Sarah when getting past the Quinn-factor hadn't exactly been fun and games for her either.

"I admit that I'm a little curious why you didn't decide to hyphenate," Josie mentions after a moment—she may have considered the possible combinations of Cartwright and Deveraux once or twice.

"I thought about it. Berry-Fabray does have a nice ring to it," Rachel confesses with a twinkle in her eyes. "But honestly, I'd always expected to take my spouse's surname when I got married, like my daddy took Berry." She frowns thoughtfully. "Of course, in retrospect, he might have just wanted to get rid of Lipshitz," she mutters, and Josie laughs—she can't really blame the guy for that. "In any case, the gender of my spouse doesn't really make a difference," Rachel explains with an amiable shrug. "The world at large is still going to know me as Rachel Berry, the incredibly talented, multi-award-winning, triple-threat superstar. But at home, I just want to be Quinn's wife. Does that make sense?" she asks timidly.

"Perfect sense," Josie breathes out as her gaze unconsciously drifts back to Sarah as she dances comfortably with Quinn.

Rachel smiles knowingly, but the next words out of her mouth have nothing to do with names or weddings. "You know, I think we've only danced together once before."

Josie frowns in confusion until her mind makes the connection, and she barks out a laugh. "That wasn't really dancing. That was...a drunken mess," she decides, thinking even that is probably being too polite in reference to the time that she'd gone out dancing (and drinking) with Santana, Rachel, and Quinn so many years ago. " _This_  is dancing," she points out, sweeping Rachel into a well-practiced, formal waltz that gracefully moves them around the floor and ends with a sure-footed dip.

Rachel laughs delightedly as Josie pulls her back up and into a slightly less formal version of the steps. "You're really good," Rachel compliments breathlessly.

Josie grins. "Ballroom dance classes every Wednesday night from ages twelve to sixteen."

Rachel looks suitably impressed. "Really?"

"Really," Josie confirms with a nod. "My mother thought it was important that I learn the classics for all those black tie galas that she used to imagine me attending. She also might have been slightly addicted to _Dancing with the Stars,_ " she reveals with a wink.

"Well, in any case, those lessons really paid off."

"Oh, they certainly did. There were never enough boys in the class, so I got to dance with a lot of pretty girls," Josie recalls with a nostalgic smile. "Those Wednesday nights _really_  helped me figure out that I wasn't straight." And—well, she really does love to dance.

Rachel glances at Quinn with a wistful expression. "I wish my dance classes had done that for me."

Josie knows what she's probably thinking—that she and Quinn might have gotten here sooner if Rachel had recognized her attraction to Quinn when they were younger—but, "You obviously weren't ready yet. Sometimes the _when_  matters as much as the _who._ "

Rachel looks back at her with thoughtful eyes, licking her lips as she nods in agreement. "I think you might be right."

Josie's gaze moves back to Sarah. "I know I am," she states with complete certainty, thinking about when they'd first met and where they'd been eight years ago and who they are now. She doesn't have a single doubt that they're here together now exactly because of everything that they'd experienced in the years that they were apart, and she has a feeling it's the same for Rachel and Quinn. Those years had gifted all of them with love and with friendships that Josie wouldn't trade for anything in the world, and she can't wait to see where the future will take them.

_xx_

Santana is kicked back at a table, giving her aching feet a rest while Brittany and Sam are talking some weirdo, sci-fi crap again. She isn't totally adverse to the subject, but she thinks that she might be too many years out of practice at keeping up with Brittany's unique mind to really follow the conversation. Or maybe she's just too exhausted from the long hours at the hospital and the wedding preparation and waking up at the asscrack of dawn to keep Quinn from having some kind a bridal meltdown because her hair wouldn't curl just right.

So she's taking the time to enjoy a little breather while she has another glass of champagne—perfectly chilled and sparkling with bubbles—and lazily watches the people move around the room. She's been dancing with Britts for most of the night, but she still carved out some time from her precious schedule to spread her patented brand of joy to every member of the Lima Escape Club—oh, and Finn. She has to admit that she's really missed some of these assholes. It's easy for her to forget sometimes just how much they've all changed over the years, especially when she sees Quinn, Rachel, and Kurt almost as much as she did back in high school, but she's glad they're all improving with age. Okay— _most_  of them are improving with age.

The party is still going strong, but Santana knows it has to end sometime. It won't be long before Candy will be rounding up the brides to toss their bouquets, and the band will play a couple more songs before they all get their asses, in various degrees of drunkenness, kicked out into the warm, summer night. Santana honestly doesn't know what will happen after that between her and Brittany.

She knows exactly what Quinn and Rachel will be getting up to though. She's a little surprised that they haven't already managed to sneak off somewhere to get a head start on the honeymoon—or maybe they have. Santana quickly scans the room for them, but she doesn't see them anywhere.

A few minutes ago, Quinn had been protecting her toes from Finnept after finishing a boring dance with Michigan while Rachel had downgraded from Josie to Jesse St. Jackass. Santana still doesn't like that guy much, but whatever. Apparently Quinn and Rachel get their thrills by rubbing their happiness in the collective faces of their old flames. Okay, so maybe they'll never admit that's actually what they're up to with all the invites to the exes, but all their lovey-dovey talk about sharing the day with the people who shaped their journey to each other doesn't fool Santana for a minute. Bitches both still love to _win_. Santana has been watching them making the rounds to show off their rings and dresses and elated smiles all night long.

She doesn't see Finn anywhere either, but Harmony has Jessica cornered at the moment so Santana knows that he must still be around somewhere. Poor Jessica. Santana can only imagine the pointers that she's probably getting on her singing technique right now. If not for Brittany, Santana would be tempted to go rescue her and see if she'd be interested in a repeat of their old, no-strings sexcapades with the one and only bridesmaid.

But Brittany _is_  here, and Santana still isn't completely certain what she's going to do about that.

And then Brittany is _here_ , slipping into the chair beside her with a sexy smile and laying a palm against Santana's thigh.

"I need to pee," she announces, throwing a bucket of ice all over the effects of her body language.

"Uh…okay," Santana responds.

"You need to pee too."

Santana frowns. "I don't really."

Brittany rolls her eyes. "Come to the bathroom with me."

Her hand inches a little higher on Santana's thigh, seeping warmth through the lime-green fabric of her dress, and Santana's lips part with an enlightened, "Oh. Yeah. Okay."

Santana might not know what to do about Brittany, but Brittany certainly seems to know what to do with her. She decides, again, to follow her lead, and she lets Britts tug her up from her chair and walk her through the tables and the bodies in the room until they're out the door and into the hallway. She admires the sway of that perfect ass on top of those perfect legs and wonders if the rest of Brittany's body will still feel as perfect against her palms.

And then she wonders if she can manage sex in a bathroom stall with the same flexibility that she'd had at seventeen in the janitor's closet.

Santana's amorous mood dims considerably when she sees Finn pacing in the hallway outside of the bathrooms with one of his constipated faces on, but she's determined to ignore him until he spots them and blocks their path.

"Hey…um…are you...ah…could you…maybe…um…?"

"Use your words, Finn," Santana barks in annoyance.

Finn frowns deeply as twin red blotches appear on his cheeks, and he pushes one giant paw through his hair. "Just…could you maybe get Quinn and Rachel to come out here?" he asks, gesturing to the ladies' room.

Santana jerks to attention and scowls at him. "Why the hell are you ambushing them outside the bathroom? What are you up to?" she demands.

Finn's cheeks grow even redder, and Santana swears he looks like he might cry as he holds his hands up defensively. "Nothing. I swear. I just want to talk to them. That's all."

Santana doesn't completely believe him, but she's not in the mood to play twenty questions with him either, so she spins on her heel and barges into the bathroom with Brittany in tow, figuring it's the best way to get an answer. She stops when she sees Rachel and Quinn wrapped around one another in an intimate embrace in front of the mirror, and for a moment. she thinks they're making out until she notices the teary eyes that they're both sporting.

"Ay, dios! What's wrong now?"

Rachel and Quinn jump apart, and Quinn runs the pads of her fingers underneath her eyes with a quiet chuckle. "Nothing," she insists.

"Quinn and I were just having a moment," Rachel promises with a soft smile, picking up two of those fancy towels and handing one to Quinn before she begins to delicately dab at her own wet cheeks in the mirror.

"Does it have anything to do with Wreck-It Ralph out there asking me to fetch you like I'm his very own personal Fix-It Felix" Santana wants to know, crossing her arms in annoyance.

Rachel and Quinn share an odd look. "Finn's outside?" Quinn asks, turning to the mirror to check her makeup.

"Yeah. Pacing around like he needs to ask your permission to take a crap. I can go out there and kick his ass if you need me to," Santana offers readily.

"I'll totally help," Brittany chimes in.

Rachel smiles gratefully but shakes her head. "That's not necessary. I think Quinn and I are more than capable of handling this." She glances at Quinn again, who nods at her as she palms something from the counter that Santana can't quite make out. "But thank you for the offer," Rachel murmurs in appreciation, closing the small distance between them and brushing a quick kiss over Santana's cheek.

Santana huffs, ignoring the heat in her cheek while Quinn grins and mimics her wife's actions but sweeping down on the other cheek. "Yes, thank you, Santana," Quinn echoes sweetly before she takes Rachel's hand.

"Oh, get out of here you sappy bitches," she calls after them as they make their way out the door.

Brittany giggles beside her, slipping her arm around Santana's waist. Santana only relaxes a little as she cranes her head around and eyes up the door where Quinn and Rachel had disappeared.

"You want to go eavesdrop on them, don't you?" Brittany asks knowingly.

Santana sighs. "So fucking much." She looks at Brittany hopefully, but Brittany only shakes her head.

"They're supposed to take care of each other now," she points out. "But you're really sexy when you get protective."

Santana's lips quirk. "Yeah?" she breathes out, letting her arms fall out of their defensive posture.

"Oh, yeah," Brittany agrees, gliding the tip of her nose across Santana's cheek. "But you're always sexy."

"Brittany," Santana murmurs softly. She's doing that thing again—the thing with her body being close and looking so good and feeling even better and making Santana forget everything but living in the moment with her. And then Brittany's lips cover hers for the first time in years, and Santana remembers everything in a sweet rush of sugar and spice that's so incredibly nice.

She remembers the taste of her, the texture of her tongue, the pressure of her lips, and the fit of their bodies as Brittany pushes her back into one of the stalls and pulls the door closed behind them. Santana remembers how many times they'd sneak off for quickies when they'd been in school, hiding away from teachers and classmates and parents, hoping that they wouldn't get caught while getting even more turned on by the possibility that they would. She remembers christening every room in both of their houses and then christening every piece of furniture, appliance, countertop, and wall in Santana's apartment years later.

Santana remembers all of that with Brittany's thigh pressed between her legs and her hands on Santana's breasts. The sex between them had always been fucking amazing.

It's everything else that had given them trouble.

It's Brittany living happily in Los Angeles and Santana settled in New York. It's Brittany talking about Beyoncé and Demi and Pink like they're old friends while Santana is thinking about aortic valves and catheters and echocardiograms. It's Brittany in sequins and Santana in scrubs, and Brittany dreaming about setting sail on a whirlwind sightseeing tour while Santana just wants to curl up in bed and sleep for a week, preferably with a warm body curled around her.

It's suddenly realizing with a new sense of clarity that her world won't end if that body doesn't belong to Brittany.

It's the feeling that everything about today has been a nice vacation from her real life instead of coming home.

Santana tears her mouth away from Brittany's insistent kisses and reluctantly pulls her hands away from Brittany's ass. "Wait, wait, Britts," she pleads, pressing a palm to Brittany's shoulder. "I can't do this."

Brittany gazes at her with confused eyes. "Why not? Did you forget how?"

Santana chuckles mildly, easing her aroused body away from Brittany's. "No, believe me, I remember. But...it doesn't feel right."

Brittany frowns. "Oh. Are you, like, into really kinky sex now? 'Cause I'm game for anything."

"No...it's," Santana begins, shaking her head. "You're not just some woman I can hook-up with," she explains. "You're my first love. The first girl I had sex with. And for a long time, I thought you'd be the last, but you weren't, and as tempting as it is to be with you like this again, and believe me it is _so_  tempting," Santana admits, regretfully raking her eyes over Brittany's body again. "You're worth more to me than one more night for old times' sake."

Brittany's frown deepens, and she leans back against the far wall of the stall. "Is that all this is?" she asks a little sadly.

Santana sighs. "I don't know. I don't really know _what_  this is, but...we've been apart for a long time, Britt. One minute I feel like I still know you better than I know myself, and then I look at you, or listen to you talk about your life now, and I feel like I really don't know you at all anymore. It confuses the hell out of me."

Brittany nods slowly. "You kind of confuse me too. But I think we're supposed to be confused." She shrugs. "I mean, we were such a big part of each other's lives for so long, and then all of a sudden we weren't. We're not kids anymore. We're supposed to grow up. Some people get lucky and grow together, like Quinn and Rachel did, and other people...they grow apart," she tells Santana unhappily. "And it sucks, but it doesn't make the growing part any less amazing. I'm so proud of who you are now, San, and I'm so happy I got to be a little part of it."

Sometimes Santana still forgets how smart Brittany can be about certain things, and everything she said is pretty much exactly what Santana is feeling. "You're such a _big_  part of it, Britt," she assures Brittany with a little sting of moisture in the corner of her eyes. "And I'm always going to want you in my life."

Brittany smiles wistfully, reaching out to ghost her fingers over Santana's wrist and tickle her palm until she can curl their pinkies together in a familiar embrace. "You'll always have me," she promises. "Even without the sexy times. I think maybe I just wanted one more good memory of us, you know? To replace the sad ones from before."

Santana _does_  know, and she thinks maybe she's been doing the same thing. "We can still make good memories together, just not with a quickie in the bathroom at Quinn and Rachel's wedding."

"Bathrooms are their thing anyway," Brittany dismisses as she swings there joined hands between them. "You wanna come dance with me some more?" she asks hopefully.

Santana nods. "I'd love to."

She feels more settled than she has in years, like maybe when they walk out of this bathroom, she'll finally be leaving her past with Brittany in the past where it belongs with no more regrets. And maybe she's okay with that.


	7. Get To Be the Other Half Of You

**Part Seven: Get To Be the Other Half Of You**

* * *

Rachel is dancing on a cloud of bliss—perhaps not literally, at least not right this very second, because she isn't dancing with Quinn, but overall, the entire day has her feeling like she's under a spotlight at center stage in Carnegie Hall and basking in the thunderous roar of a standing ovation. She's imagined what her wedding would be like at various points during her life, in various venues, and with various grooms standing across from her—and she can't deny that they'd always been _grooms_  from the ages of five to twenty-two.

Well—there had been a brief period after she'd seen _Yentl_  for the first time in which she'd imagined her groom to be Barbra Streisand dressed in a crisp, period suit as Anshel, but it hadn't seemed much different to her six-year-old self than imagining Billy Flynn or Han Solo repeating their vows to her. Not _every_  film she's ever been infatuated with has been a musical. She also might have imagined marrying Edward Cullen at one point, but that's certainly not something that bears repeating out loud. It's bad enough that Kurt and Mercedes both vividly recall that particular, unfortunate phase.

She's been imagining Quinn in the coveted role of her other half almost since they'd shared their very first kiss, but that hasn't stopped the wedding venues from occasionally changing—from churches and temples to rooftops, gardens, and wineries. It's always seemed to come right back here to Central Park. It's an oasis of beauty and calm in the midst of the frenzied city, but more importantly, it's the place where Rachel and Quinn had taken their first steps together into the future they both wanted, so it only made sense that it should be the place where they each vowed to never walk any path without the other.

Most of the other details of their wedding and reception were negotiable to a point. Rachel has even been graciously accepting most of the jokes about that _other_  almost-wedding (that really doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as this one because it was so completely ridiculous of her to even consider marrying Finn Hudson at seventeen and think that they could live happily-ever-after before they'd even graduated from high school) because she knows exactly how many mistakes she's made on her way to becoming Quinn's wife.

She's mostly able to laugh at them now, but there are moments when the remembered aftermath of that rushed, rash, non-wedding overwhelm her unexpectedly and leave her shaken to the core—like waiting for Quinn to arrive at the ceremony today while she'd paced the floor and battled the sinking dread in her stomach that there would be another phone call like the one Santana had gotten all those years ago. Rachel can hardly bear to think of it even now.

If nothing else, her youthful folly is at least evidence that Rachel's focus has always been more on the _who_  than the when, where, or how.

She won't deny that having that person be _Quinn_  had opened up a plethora of possibilities that most typical _grooms_  wouldn't have cared to plan with her—like the flower placement, the color scheme down to the napkins on the tables, the flavor and design of the cake and how many tiers, and the list of songs that the band simply has to play. Rachel really doesn't want to compare this experience to the one that she'd had with Finn, but she doesn't need Quinn or anyone else to point out how much better it is to be with someone who was actually excited to sit down with her and look through bridal magazines while they sipped on their wine and planned out the perfect way to celebrate the beginning of their married life together.

Rachel realized very early on that Quinn—despite her long ago, prom-obsessed claim that _you can get married as many times as you want_ (which is absolutely  _not_ happening under any circumstances unless she is re-marrying Rachel)—really did want all the trimmings and trappings of a big, traditional wedding day. And Rachel has been more than happy to make sure that all of Quinn's dreams come true, because she gets to be the one experiencing them all with her. They both went a little overboard in their planning at times and a little crazy at others, and she's certain they've gotten on Candace's nerves as much as she's gotten on theirs, but they've manage to pull everything together into a nearly perfect event.

And now Rachel can finally breathe more easily, because apart from a few snafus and glitches here and there—and a near nervous breakdown or four—the wedding has been beautifully disaster-free, and Quinn is finally her _wife_.

She's already so incredibly happy about everything that entails, but she gets an extra, little rush every time she flashes her ring at someone and reminds them that she's married to _Quinn Fabray—_ cheerio Quinn Fabray, former president of the Celibacy Club.

Those days are far behind Quinn now, unless one counts the last two weeks and Quinn's not-so-brilliant idea to abstain from intimacy in order to make their first time together as wife and wife even more memorable. Rachel had agreed, of course, because it's part of creating the perfect wedding experience, just like she'd agreed to not see Quinn for twenty-four hours before the wedding. She's very glad _that_ torture is over—and the abstinence _will be_  over in a few more hours.

For everyone outside of their circle of friends from Lima, Rachel flashes her ring and reminds them that she's married to bestselling novelist, Quinn Fabray. And, frankly, that's even better than the best version of Quinn's teenaged self—because  _this_ Quinn is happy and free and  _hers_.

But the point is that Rachel is married to Quinn Fabray, and she's sufficiently satisfied that everyone here is aware of that fact, even if none of them can fully fathom exactly how happy and blessed Rachel feels today every time she looks at her wife and remembers that she gets to spend the rest of her life with Quinn.

She thinks that she's probably spoken or danced with almost all of their guests by now, and she'd even shared half of an awkward dance with Finn earlier, made all the more awkward by the exaggerated distance that he'd tried to keep between their bodies. Rachel thought it might have been for Quinn's benefit, but—

"Um, Harm is a little weird about you," Finn had admitted with flushed cheeks, watching his still-clumsy steps through the five inch gap between them.

Rachel's feet, arms, and back had been begging for relief by the end of the dance. She'd forgotten what an ungraceful dancer Finn can be and how uncomfortable their height difference had been, especially after so many years of fitting so perfectly with Quinn. Still, it was nice to chat with him for a few minutes about their respective lives, even though Finn had sadly confessed that he doesn't really talk to anyone from high school anymore outside of an occasional stilted conversation with Kurt.

Finn's isolation from everyone that he'd once counted as a friend is more than a little depressing when Rachel stops to think about it, though she knows how easily people can drift apart. She and Quinn don't actually see much of the old gang either outside of Kurt and Santana. Noah occasionally takes the time to say _hello_  when he's in the area visiting Beth, and they both still touch base with Mercedes by email or text a few times a year, but other than that, their connections to their former schoolmates are threadbare at best. Neither of them were even able to _find_  Mike Chang to extend an invitation.

Finn seems to have made a new life with new friends in much the same way that Rachel and Quinn have done, but there's no denying how happy he seems today to be able to reconnect with his old friends. So she certainly can't begrudge him his current attempt to reconnect with Quinn, even though it means that her wife is once again being subjected to Harmony's enthusiastic fangirling.

The couple had snagged Quinn right after her dance with Sarah ended, and Rachel had been still chatting with Josie as they slowly walked back to the table, so she hadn't been able to rescue Quinn right away. She debates heading over there now, but Finn gestures for Quinn to dance with him, leaving Harmony alone to wander back to the dessert spread.

That leaves Rachel currently unattended and fair game for Jesse St. James. She's mostly fond of him ninety percent of the time, but that other ten percent leaves her rolling her eyes and wondering why she'd ever been seduced into dating him in the first place. Quinn is only ten percent fond of him and ninety percent annoyed by his occasional, unannounced visits to New York, during which he inevitably attempts to convince Rachel that they could have been the golden couple of show business had she chosen him. His invitation had been in and out of their outgoing mail pile several times before they'd agreed that they should invite him, if for no other reason than to collect an additional wedding gift.

"I have to admit, you make a stunning bride," Jesse compliments with his patented charming grin. "Of course, you would have been more stunning if I was your groom."

"Jesse," Rachel warns.

He chuckles, raising his champagne glass to her in a silent toast. "But, as far as women go, Quinn complements you nicely. I'm genuinely happy for you."

"Thank you," Rachel murmurs graciously as she glances at Quinn again—the dance that she's sharing with Finn at least appears to be slightly less uncomfortable than the one he'd shared with Rachel. Seeing them together brings back a strange echo of high school, and Rachel wonders now how she'd never noticed that her eyes had always been on Quinn at least as much as they'd been on Finn.

"I do expect you to keep me in mind for your second marriage, of course," Jesse informs her before taking a sip of his drink.

Rachel scowls at him. "There won't be one."

"That's what they all say," Jesse dismisses easily. "I've been the dalliance of more than a few bored housewives, you know. I've even met one or two potential liaisons here tonight," he admits with a smirk. "It really is a shame that I don't live in New York."

"At moments like this, I'm glad you don't," Rachel grumbles, thinking that this conversation is quickly falling into the ten percent category.

Jesse presses a hand over his heart. "You wound me deeply."

Rachel shakes her head. "Sometimes I wonder why I," she trails off with a frown when her eyes catch on Finn and Quinn. At some point, they stopped dancing, standing at the edge of the dance floor instead—Finn towering over Quinn with his hand on her shoulder, and Quinn with her head bowed as she clutches something in her hand.

"What? What's wrong?" Jesse asks.

"I...I don't know," Rachel whispers in concern, feeling her heart twist at the sight of her wife not smiling for the first time today.

"Hmmm. It seems your ex still hasn't mastered the simple mechanics of dancing," Jesse muses, but even as he says it, Quinn shakes off Finn's touch and races out of the room. "Oh, that doesn't look promising," Jesse concedes while Rachel's stomach drops to the floor.

Finn spares a guilty glance in Rachel's direction before he hurriedly follows after Quinn.

"Excuse me," Rachel barely mutters before she's chasing after the both of them with her hands curled into fists and her jaw clenched. She doesn't know what she just witnessed, but she knows that Quinn isn't happy, and that means that _Rachel_  isn't happy.

She finds Finn hovering in front of the door to the ladies' room, looking like he's about to the pull the handle and go inside.

"Finn Hudson," Rachel growls, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction. "What did you do?"

Finn lets go of the door handle as he turns to face Rachel, shaking his head. "Nothing. I swear. I just wanted to show her this list I made and…"

"You upset her," Rachel accuses heatedly.

"Not on purpose," he defends. "I wouldn't have even said anything if I knew she was gonna start crying."

Rachel gasps, pressing a hand to her heart. "She was crying?" she asks shakily.

_No, no, no. This is not acceptable. Only happy tears are allowed today._

"Look, I'm sorry. I guess I'm still pretty bad at this stuff," Finn apologizes dejectedly.

Rachel puts up a hand to stop him from saying anything else. She can't listen to him right now when her only concern is Quinn. "Just...go back to your wife and let me take care of mine," she demands, pushing past him to get to the door.

She sees Quinn the moment that she walks inside the bathroom, leaning heavily against the countertop that holds the sinks and staring down at a crinkled and folded piece of paper in her hand. Rachel can see the tears glistening on her cheeks, and her stomach twists and flips unpleasantly.

"Quinn, baby. What's wrong?" Rachel begs, slipping into the space next to Quinn and wrapping an arm around her waist. She reaches up with her free hand to cup Quinn's cheek and softly brushes at the moisture beneath her touch with the pad of her thumb. "What stupid thing did Finn say to upset you?"

Quinn closes her eyes and shakes her head, a small smile curving her lips. "He didn't upset me. He gave me this," she explains as she holds out the paper for Rachel to see.

Rachel drops her eyes down to see a well-worn piece of ruled notebook paper, slightly smudged with what looks like ink (or possibly grease) and sporting a wet patch on the upper right corner from Quinn's tears. She recognizes Finn's sloppy script scrawled in about four different colors of ink.

"What is it?" Rachel asks, taking the page from Quinn.

"Just read it," Quinn urges softly.

Rachel reluctantly focuses her attention on the paper. The very first sentence reads, _Times it was all about Quinn_ , and she frowns in confusion, not really understanding what that means until she reads the next few sentences. Her breath catches on the sudden lump in her throat, and her arm falls away from Quinn's waist as she leans back against the counter and holds on to the paper with a shaking hand.

 _Times it was all about Quinn_ , she silently reads again.

_Rachel postponed our wedding to wait for Quinn._

_She didn't want to leave the hospital._

_She cried for like an hour after she saw Quinn in the wheelchair._

_Said she still looked beautiful._

Rachel presses trembling fingers against her lips as her eyes fill with tears—just a few words on a piece of paper instantly bringing back all of the emotions that she'd felt in those moments. The nerves and worry and dread that sank like an anchor in her stomach as she'd paced the hallway in the courthouse, obsessively checking her phone for a message from Quinn because she promised to be there. And Quinn _always_  kept her promises to Rachel, even then.

The surreal sensation of the world crumbling to ashes beneath her feet after Santana had brokenly told them that Quinn had been rushed to the hospital. All the light and air and color being drained from the room around her as she fell to the floor in tears.

The paralyzing fear that had twisted her insides into knots as they'd waited for word on Quinn's condition. Arguing in vain with her dads that she should stay at the hospital before defying them after they'd dragged her home by coming back before the sun had even risen the next day—because she needed to be close to Quinn and _be there_  the moment that she woke up. Begging every deity in existence across every religion that Quinn _would_  wake up.

The overwhelming guilt and regret at seeing Quinn faced with yet another setback and hardship to overcome in her life, and knowing that she couldn't undo what had been done. Thinking that despite all of it, Quinn was still the prettiest girl that she'd ever met, and so very much more than that.

Rachel glances up at her wife as Quinn reverses their positions from just a moment ago, coiling an arm around Rachel's waist and holding her lightly. It isn't enough for Rachel, and she leans into Quinn's strong body, slipping an arm across her back and reveling in the solid warmth beneath her fingertips as she continues to read what Finn had written.

_She already knew all this detailed stuff about Quinn before we even joined glee._

Well, Quinn _had_  become the head cheerleader at only fifteen— _of course_  Rachel had taken the necessary time to learn everything there was to know about the girl. It hadn't seemed the least bit odd to her at the time, nor had the fact that she really hadn't cared to make the same effort to learn anything about Finn Hudson until after he'd opened his mouth to sing in glee club.

_She gave Jew-Fro her underwear to protect Quinn._

_She told me how to get a job to pay for Quinn's medical bills._

_Asked all the time if Quinn was taking care of herself when she was pregnant._

_She told me to make sure Sam was a decent guy when he started going out with Quinn._

_Asked me what it felt like to kiss Quinn._

Rachel blushes—she won't even try to excuse that one. She'd legitimately wanted to know, no matter how she'd tried to reason away her curiosity as jealousy at the time. She's so very happy that she was finally able to discover the answer first hand and in glorious detail.

_She told me she wrote "Get It Right" because Quinn inspired her._

_Told me I was a jerk for breaking up with Quinn at a funeral._

That was just the truth.

_She went after Quinn when I got kicked out of prom. Not me._

Rachel smiles a little, knowing that she'd followed after an upset Quinn on several occasions—today included. She knows she always will.

_Wanted Quinn's blessing to marry me. It really bugged her that Quinn didn't approve._

_It always bugged her when Quinn didn't approve of something._

Frankly, it still does.

_She called Quinn's weird punk phase "unexpectedly titillating."_

_Titillating doesn't mean flashing her boobs. It means_ _hot_.

Rachel laughs after reading that one.

"Unexpectedly titillating?" Quinn questions knowingly.

Rachel nods as she gazes at Quinn. "You were, you know? Very much so."

Quinn smiles and presses her forehead against Rachel's temple. "Keep reading," she whispers, so Rachel does.

_She said she didn't want to watch me getting all the attention from the pretty blonde cheerleader._

_I think she meant_ _she_ _wanted Quinn's attention._

_She voted for Quinn for prom queen. Both times._

_She hated Joe Hart. Said he wasn't right for Quinn._

He wasn't. Rachel had been very right about that one on every level.

_I never saw her smile as big as she did when she told me Quinn bought them both train tickets._

_She said the thing she was proudest of was finding a way to be Quinn's friend._

_She told me to get Quinn a gardenia with a light green ribbon to match her eyes._

_Knew what color would match Quinn's eyes._

_Harmony just told me gardenias mean "you're lovely." Also secret love. Sounds about right._

"Exactly right," Rachel agrees quietly, brushing away the tears that had reformed after reading Finn's final observations about her feelings for Quinn.

"He told me that he's been working on that list for the last few months," Quinn informs her in quiet awe. "That he wanted me to know that…that even when you were with him, you never stopped thinking about me."

"I can't believe he did this," Rachel murmurs, as impressed that Finn would want to make this list as she is that he actually managed to remember all of that—or even _noticed_  it, really.

"It was sweet," Quinn admits, lightly fingering the paper in Rachel's hand. "It made me remember why I dated him. Twice," she adds with a small laugh.

Rachel nods. Finn does have his moments—it's part of the reason that she almost married him once upon a time. Still, she knows without a doubt that she ultimately made the right choice, and she carefully sets the paper aside on the counter before she turns into Quinn, kissing her softly and wrapping both arms around her wife's back to hold her. "I did want your attention," she confesses quietly. "And your approval. And to know what it feels like to kiss you."

Quinn laughs. "Well, you got your wish. All of them."

Rachel leans back just enough to admire every soft line and delicate feature on Quinn's face, losing her breath all over again at the knowledge that this woman loves her— _chose_  her. "I love you so much, Quinn."

Quinn's arms tighten around her waist. "I love you, too, Rach."

Rachel sighs happily and melts into Quinn, unwilling to leave this moment just yet, even though they're both a mess of sentimentality and tears right now, and she knows they have a banquet room full of guests who will undoubtedly be missing them at any minute. And speaking of that—

"Ay, dios! What's wrong now?" Santana demands, interrupting their quiet embrace as she comes storming into the bathroom with Brittany right behind her.

Rachel reluctantly lets go of Quinn, who attempts to conceal the evidence of her tears and reassure Santana that it's, "Nothing."

Rachel picks up two of the linen towelettes that the Boathouse provides for its guests and hands one to her wife. "Quinn and I were just having a moment," she explains vaguely before she turns to the mirror to assess the damage to her makeup.

Santana crosses her arms and scowls. "Does it have anything to do with Wreck-It Ralph out there asking me to fetch you like I'm his very own personal Fix-It Felix?"

Quinn glances at Rachel with a hint of regret that Rachel shares. She hadn't even considered that Finn might still be out there waiting for them after the way she'd dismissed him earlier. She really does need to apologize to him. She's not certain why she immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion but seeing Quinn upset and in tears always has fired up every one of her protective instincts.

"Finn's outside?" Quinn verifies before she looks herself over in the mirror and begins to artfully remove the traces of her tears without leaving her makeup in further disarray. It's a skill that Rachel has always envied and never quite mastered.

"Yeah. Pacing around like he needs to ask your permission to take a crap," Santana confirms crassly, but there's genuine concern in her expression that she really doesn't attempt to hide. "I can go out there and kick his ass if you need me to."

Brittany nods in agreement. "I'll totally help."

"That's not necessary. I think Quinn and I are more than capable of handling this," Rachel assures them with a smile before her gaze drifts to Quinn, who nods in agreement as she carefully collects the list that Finn had made for her. Rachel lightly lays a hand over Santana's arm. "But thank you for the offer."

It's nice to know that Santana is looking out for them despite her obvious preoccupation with Brittany. The two of them have been together for most of the night, and while Rachel isn't sure exactly what's going on between them, she hopes whatever it is works out for Santana. She thinks that maybe Brittany is the reason that Santana has never quite been ready to settle down with anyone else.

Rachel gives into her impulse and quickly kisses Santana's cheek, giggling at the inelegant grunt that she gets as an answer. Quinn laughs too, following behind Rachel and stopping to kiss Santana's other cheek. "Yes, thank you, Santana," she chirps sweetly before entwining her fingers with Rachel's .

Rachel hears Santana's disgruntled, "Oh, get out of here you sappy bitches," as she and Quinn step out into the hallway, and just as she told them, Finn is right there, pacing back and forth along the length of the hall.

The moment he sees them, he moves in front of them with a remorseful frown. "Quinn. Look, I'm really sorry. I guess I wasn't thinking how some of that stuff probably had a bunch of bad memories for you."

Quinn shakes her head, letting go of Rachel's hand so that she can place her palms against his shoulders, and, pushing up on her toes, she presses a soft kiss to his cheek. Finn's eyes widen in surprise before Quinn pulls back with a smile. "Thank you, Finn. That was the perfect wedding gift."

Finn glances uncertainly between them until Rachel nods, letting her own soft smile bloom until he's reassured that, "It really was."

Rachel can see the relief spread over his face, and his mouth quirks into a crooked grin. "Um...yeah. We got you a card too. And a gift certificate," he adds, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Well, Harm did, but I helped pick out the card. It's not much because we have to save our money for the baby and everything," he tells them with an apologetic shrug.

"Baby?" Quinn repeats in surprise, beating Rachel to the punch as the meaning of the word registers.

Finn's grin transforms into a proud smile. "Oh...ah, yeah. I'm gonna be a dad," he confesses happily, chuckling a little. "For real this time."

There was time when the news probably would have left Rachel reeling—even after they'd broken up for good. After all, she'd spent four years of her life imagining that she would be in love with Finn forever and that _she_  would be the one having his children (albeit many, many, many years in the future after her shelf was lined with every conceivable award available in the entertainment industry). But now—all she feels is incredibly happy for her friend.

"Finn, that's wonderful," she exclaims, rushing forward to give him a hug. "I'm so happy for you."

"Congratulations," Quinn offers from beside her, stepping in to give him a hug of her own as soon as he lets go of Rachel. "I know you'll be a good dad," she tells him sincerely, and Rachel bites her lip as she watches them because she remembers everything that they'd both gone through in high school—Finn thinking that he'd been Beth's father for so many months and Quinn wanting so desperately for her lie to have been the truth.

"Thanks," Finn murmurs, closing his eyes as he rubs Quinn's back once before he lets go. "We're not really telling a lot of people yet. It's still kind of early, you know?" he admits, looking at them with eyes that silently ask them not to go making any announcements.

"Your secret is safe with us," Rachel promises, slipping her hand back into Quinn's. "And I'm sorry for jumping to the wrong conclusions before," she tells him contritely.

"It's cool," Finn dismisses, running his hand through his hair. "So...I'm gonna go dance with my wife," he informs them, gesturing back to the Lake Room. "You should do that too."

"I think we will," Rachel agrees, squeezing Quinn's hand. Quinn grins and gazes at her lovingly, and they both follow Finn back into the reception. He stops to gallantly hold the door for them both, smiling as they pass him and enter the room, before he slips in behind them, nods, and heads for his wife, who seems to be chatting with Jesse now.

They make a stop at the bridal table so that Quinn can carefully tuck Finn's list into a safe place, and as they're doing so, Rachel watches Finn scowl at Jesse before he persuades Harmony out onto the dance floor. She looks positively thrilled at the attention.

"You know, I almost feel guilty now for trying to avoid Harmony today. I remember how crazy pregnancy hormones made me," Quinn muses once she notices the direction of Rachel's gaze.

Rachel chuckles. "Oh, I'm not sure that can be blamed on the hormones."

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "I hope you're only referring to her."

Rachel stifles her grin. "Of course, baby," she reassures her wife, gifting her with a soft kiss that she's very tempted to deepen—until they're rudely interrupted.

"I trust this means that all is well between Houses Fabray and Hudson."

Quinn groans against Rachel's lips before Rachel reluctantly pulls away. "We're fine. Thank you, Jesse."

"Good. Good," he enthuses, clapping his hands together once in emphasis. "I did worry for a moment that I was witnessing the beginning of another love triangle. Or square," he amends with a slight frown, glancing around the room in amusement. "Or...well, there are potentially too many angles to count."

"Why did we invite him again?" Quinn asks.

"I'm beginning to wonder that myself," Rachel confesses. Knowing Jesse, his wedding gift is probably a framed picture of himself for them to admire.

"You obviously wanted to add a touch of class to your soiree," Jesse point out with a smug smile.

"Did he say _ass_?" Quinn questions with a sly grin, making Rachel giggle. "Because I'm sure that's what I heard."

Jesse smiles wanly. "Rachel obviously chose you for your superior wit and not merely your unparalleled beauty," he observes. "In either event, I am admittedly very jealous."

Quinn seems to consider this, pursing her lips thoughtfully before she nods. "I don't have a problem with that."

"It's our goal to make everyone jealous today," Rachel agrees.

"Well, you're certainly doing a fine job of it."

"We know," Rachel informs him.

"And now we're going to dance," Quinn announces, taking Rachel's hand. "If you'll excuse us?" she recites politely, but she doesn't bother to wait for Jesse's disgruntled agreement before she's leading Rachel away.

It's not exactly a slow song—the band is playing a cover of Jason Mraz's "Lucky" that Quinn requested and Rachel couldn't veto after Quinn insisted that, "I would have rather been singing it with you." They both know it wouldn't have really been true at the time, because Quinn's feelings for her didn't really solidify until much later, and they both remember how resistant Quinn had been to singing their one and only duet back in high school. Rachel also made sure to slip the arrangement for that mashup to the band just in case, but she hasn't been able to convince Quinn to sing it with her. The Fabray women can be awfully stubborn about certain things.

But that doesn't bother Rachel much right now because Quinn is once again happy and smiling and singing a few lines of the song to Rachel as they dance, and it's wonderful. She spots her dads dancing together nearby, along with Mercedes and Dante, and at some point, Santana and Brittany made their way back into the room, and now they're laughing as they try out some old dance moves that Rachel recognizes from their high school days. Everyone is having a good time together at her wedding, and it's so much better than anything that she'd ever dreamed as a child. Well—except for the lack of Barbra Streisand as either her "groom" or her wedding singer.

After another upbeat song where she and Quinn are able to dance with a small group of their friends, Candace nearly tackles them and tells them, "It's time to toss the bouquets. We have forty-five minutes to wrap this up."

As much as Rachel wants the night to last forever, she's also looking forward to finally being alone with Quinn. She has plans for her wife tonight and for the next several nights to be honest—tomorrow will take them to the Hamptons and a canopied king-sized bed, luxury shower, sauna, and private pool—but tonight involves a short drive to the Plaza Hotel where an Edwardian Suite awaits them. So when Candace brings them their bouquets, she's more than ready to toss hers at someone and start counting down to the moment that she'll finally get her wife all to herself.

Rachel had originally suggested that Quinn could toss the bouquet and she could toss the garter (or vice versa since she isn't exactly opposed to having Quinn crawl under her dress during the reception), but Quinn rolled her eyes and told her that they were both the brides so everyone would just have to deal with two bouquets. But—

"We're not discriminating," Quinn announces from the stage after the band has called everyone to gather around. "Boys, you can catch it for your ladies. Or for your gentlemen," she adds with a wink. "You all get two chances at being the next down the aisle."

"You can keep both of mine," Santana shouts from the back of the crowd, drawing some laughter. She steadfastly stays back there with her hip cocked and a glass of wine in her hand, as do Mercedes and her fiancé because they're already planning their own walk down the aisle. A few of the guys, like Steven, Peter, and Sam, hang back there with them while others head to the bar, and the already marrieds, like Finn and Quinn's friend, Jason, and their wives, stand off to the side watching.

"Ready?" Quinn asks, waiting for the chorus of affirmative cheers before she turns around and puts her back to the crowd.

Rachel watches her give it a good toss, sending it up into a high arc before it drops down right where Josie and Sarah are standing. They both reflexively reach for it, and it bounces off Josie's palms and into Sarah's waiting hands. Quinn turns around in time to see Sarah's shy grin and Josie's wide smile and thumbs up sign.

"Nice aim," Rachel compliments her with a laugh.

Quinn grins. "Thanks, sweetie. Try not to land yours in the chocolate fountain," she teases before she pecks Rachel's pouting lips. Really, her aim isn't that bad. The chocolate fountain is much too far away for her to send her bouquet sailing into it. She thinks.

"Ready for chance number two?" Rachel asks them.

"Should we get some helmets?" Santana heckles. Rachel frowns at her as everyone laughs at her expense, even her fathers. So much for family loyalty.

"A hundred bucks says she can't get it past the edge of the stage," Noah chimes in.

Kurt raises his hand. "I'll take that bet. Her arm strength has improved since high school."

"Wonder why," Santana snarks with a wicked grin.

Rachel huffs, stomping her foot on the stage as she clutches her bouquet and turns her back to everyone, not particularly caring anymore whether they're ready or not. Quinn steps close and rests a hand on her wrist before she can toss it, leaning in and whispering, "Aim for Finn."

Rachel narrows her eyes at her wife. "Why would I do that?" she asks with a frown, briefly glancing over her shoulder to where Finn is standing with Harmony.

Quinn's eyebrow arches. "Do you trust me?" she challenges playfully.

Rachel sighs. She trusts Quinn with her life, and her heart, and apparently the tossing of her wedding bouquet, so she closes her eyes and thinks of where Finn is standing before she grips the bouquet with both hands and whips it over her head as hard as she can.

She hears riotous laughter greet her effort at the same time Santana sputters, "What the fuck?"

Rachel frowns as she turns, thinking that Quinn convinced her to do something embarrassing, only to realize that Santana is gripping an upside-down bouquet in her hand with an annoyed glare aimed at Rachel, and there's a very telling stray gardenia stuck in her hair. Quinn laughs and claps before she hugs Rachel to her side. "And that's how you do it," she crows proudly, pressing a kiss to Rachel's warm cheek.

"Pay up, Puckerman," Kurt demands with a smug smile, holding out his hand for his winnings.

Noah laughs and digs for his wallet. "Totally worth the money to see Santana get beaned with a sonic bouquet."

Quinn steps down off the stage and holds out a hand to help Rachel down after her. Rachel accepts it happily, and together they walk through the lingering crowd of their guests until they're standing in front of Santana. "Guess you needed that helmet after all," Quinn points out with a smirk.

Santana shifts the bouquet into the hand that's holding her now empty wine glass and flips them both off, but there's an impressed smile pulling at her lips. "Yeah, well…you best be glad I'm not walking down any aisles anytime soon, because I'm gonna have you bitches in the ugliest bridesmaids' dresses known to man. I'm talking camouflage, drop waist tunics," she promises, and Rachel has a feeling that it's not just an empty threat.

Brittany pulls Santana's attention back to her as the band begins to play "I Won't Give Up," and Quinn turns to face Rachel with a grin. "I'm officially claiming the rest of your dance card, Mrs. Fabray," she vows before escorting Rachel back to the center of the dance floor and slipping her arms around Rachel's waist.

Rachel sighs as she loops her arms around Quinn's shoulders. "I really do love the way that sounds."

"So you've been saying all day," Quinn reminds her with laughter in her voice.

"But it sounds even better when _you_  say it. All low and rumbly." Actually, everything sounds better when Quinn says it—a fact that had first tickled at Rachel's awareness as far back as their senior year of high school. And she especially loves the way _her_  name—every variation of it—sounds in the husky tones of Quinn tremulous alto.

"Rumbly?" Quinn questions in amusement.

"It's almost like you're purring," Rachel informs her with a playful grin. "And you know how I love to make you purr."

"As much as I love to make you sing off key," Quinn replies wickedly.

Rachel gasps in mock affront. "I _never_  sing off key."

Quinn laughs. "We'll see about that later tonight."

Rachel lightly trails her fingers across the back of Quinn's neck, making her hum in pleasure. "Challenge accepted, Mrs. Fabray."

Quinn's eyes fall closed for a moment as she sighs around a soft smile. "Have I mentioned how much _I_  love the way that sounds?"

"I don't believe you have," Rachel realizes. "But I'll be happy to call you that as many times as you like," she offers. "Perhaps I'll even scream it once or twice."

"Oh, it will be more than twice," Quinn promises with a sexy smirk. " _And_  off key."

Rachel laughs and shakes her head, silently conceding that it probably will be. Quinn has a knack for reducing her to a mess of incoherent rambling and moans, and it has been _two weeks_. Rachel somehow doubts that she'll be able to stay quiet tonight even if she had a reason to try—which she certainly does not. She takes some comfort in the fact that she has the same effect on Quinn.

"I'm so happy I get to be your wife," Rachel murmurs, gazing at Quinn with all the love in her heart.

Quinn's smirk transforms into an adoring smile. "So am I. As much as I've loved everything about today…the ceremony and being here with all of our friends and family…the best part…the very best part is _you_ , Rachel. Knowing that my life is joined to yours, for better or worse."

"For better," Rachel is quick to assert. "It's always better with you."

Quinn's eyes glisten as she holds Rachel closer, pressing a soft kiss to her lips as they dance together—once again oblivious to everything but each other. Rachel shifts closer into her wife's embrace, savoring the way their bodies mold together as the music washes over them and knowing that this moment, this woman, this _love_  is so much better than anything that she'd ever imagined. No matter how messy or imperfect their life together has been and would probably continue to be at times, it's real, and it's beautiful. And it's _theirs_.

And it's just the beginning.


End file.
